


Love, Lies, and Blackmail

by pool_of_time



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: F/F, F/M, I tagged all the pov characters but others appear, Immediately Post-Canon, M/M, longest thing I've written in my entire life, tagged characters and rating are for the whole fic not just what's up, this is finished so I'm planning on updating regularly until it's all up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pool_of_time/pseuds/pool_of_time
Summary: If your love life isn't intertwined with at least three or four convoluted schemes, then what are you even doing here?





	1. Chapter 1

The first call comes when Michael and George Michael are barely out of Newport Beach. George Michael looks down at his father’s cell phone. “Why is Gangie in _your_ phone as Gangie?”

“Hm? No, that’s actually referring to the movie monster.”

“You have someone listed in your phone as Gangie the movie monster?”

“Yes, it’s your grandmother.” He sees George Michael reaching towards the phone. “George Michael, don’t pick up that phone. She doesn’t need to talk to us.”

George Michael puts the phone down a little reluctantly and looks out the window.

The second call comes less than five minutes later. “Don’t answer that, George Michael.” George Michael complies.

After the sixth call, Michael is starting to get annoyed and, underneath that annoyance, though he won’t admit it, a little concerned. “Fine, George Michael, just answer it. Put her on speaker.”

As soon as George Michael answers, Michael yells, “Mother, you'd better have a good reason for this!”

“Michael, they arrested Buster!”

Okay, so he isn’t expecting this. Maybe he should have, God knows it’s par for the course. He pulls over to the side of the road, his mom still babbling through the phone.

“What? Mom? Calm down. Mom! Calm down! _Why_ did they arrest Buster?”

“He murdered Lucille Two!”

“Allegedly, mom. And didn’t we just go over all this with the mistrial?”

“No, Michael, he _confessed!_ They found the body in Gob’s stupid magic trick!”

For a moment, Michael can’t even say anything. Neither can George Michael. They alternate between gaping at the phone and at each other.

“Michael? Hello? Are you still there? You need to come fix this!”

“I can’t fix this, mom. This is _way_ out of my hands. Hire the Guilty Guys for real this time. I don’t know. And you know what? I don’t care. This really is the last straw. I am _out_ of this family.” Michael hangs up the phone and stares out the windshield, unseeing. He shakes his head slowly. Then he gets back on the road and keeps driving towards Phoenix.

“We’re really going to leave them there?” George Michael asks.

For a moment Michael doesn’t answer. He clenches his jaw and grips the steering wheel harder. He keeps on towards Arizona.

Then, suddenly, he makes a U-turn in the middle of the highway, heading back towards Newport Beach. Who the fuck had he been kidding? Of course he’s not leaving them there.

***

Gob is indignant. He’s at the model home, flopped on the couch with one long leg draped over the back. The rest of his family is running around like chickens with their heads cut off, dealing with the latest crisis. Even Michael. He came back, of course. No shock there.

Not Gob, though. Gob isn’t running around in a panic, because Buster and his mother don’t _want_ him there. Apparently it’s _his_ fault Buster got arrested again, because he was the one who convinced the demolition guys to take Lucille Two’s body out of the wall. Not like he knew it was Lucille Two’s body! He’d told Buster to use a mannequin! That Gob mask is fucking _expensive!_ And now it’s sitting in an evidence locker, because they wouldn’t even let him have it back. What a waste.

Gob hears the front door open, but doesn’t bother moving.

“Gob?” 

It’s Michael. Gob simultaneously rolls his eyes and rolls up to sitting on the couch. “What, you come to lecture me for having them open up that wall too?”

Michael looks confused for a second before speaking. “No, Gob, for once this really isn’t on you.” He crosses his arms. “This is all on Buster. I can’t _believe_ he actually killed her. And I almost turned _myself_ in!” He shakes his head in disbelief.

Gob leans back into the couch. “Yeah, well, I’m not really surprised. I always thought it was his robot hand.”

Michael shoots him a very mild glare. Not even a glare, really. Maybe more like a look of disapproval. For what exactly, Gob isn’t sure. “Anyway, Gob, I’m not here to talk to you about Buster. I’m here to talk about _why_ I almost turned myself in. I finally remember some of what happened on Cinco… plus I saw one of John Beard’s tapes.”

Gob is already sitting still, but he feels his body freeze anyway.

“And don’t even think of feeding me another pill, because I made sure not to talk to you about this until after the forget-me-now window closed.”

Gob suddenly jumps off the couch. “Who did you tell, Michael?” he growls.

Michael is as infuriatingly calm as ever. “No one. I sure as hell don’t want to tell anyone what _I_ did that night. And, you know, as much as I wanted to tell mom and dad why you _drugged_ me, I figured I should talk to you first.”

“Well that’s… decent of you.” Gob paces around the room for a few seconds, and then leans against the wall, examining his hands. “Which video did you see?”

“I saw the one where you fed me a roofie when Tony Wonder walked onto the landing.”

Gob closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “Thank God,” he mumbles to himself.

“Believe me, Gob, I’m not going to ask John Beard to show me the one from the bedroom. There is not even the tiniest part of me that wants to see that.”

Gob doesn’t respond. The brothers just stare at each other.

“Well?” Michael says.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to _apologize?_ ”

“And why the hell would I do that, Michael?”

“You _force fed me a roofie,_ which led to me nearly _confessing to a murder I didn’t commit._ ”

“Well, I had a good reason!”

“Gob, do you honestly believe I’d think less of you because you were dating Tony Wonder? You think that after all the shit you’ve pulled with women, with the family, with the _business_ , that my opinion of you would be ruined because you _slept with a man?_ I’ve seen you do things _miles_ more embarrassing than that without batting an eye, things you should _really_ be ashamed of, and _that’s_ the thing you want me to forget?”

Gob isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted. He’s feeling a little bit of both. A little bit of both, plus a whole lot of barely concealed panic. “Look, Mike—Michael. Michael. Should—should the—sh—should the guy—Michael, should—“

Michael rubs his face with his hands and sighs. “Gob, calm down.” He watches Gob continue to stutter for a few seconds and then walks over to him. He puts his hands on Gob’s shoulders. “Gob.”

Gob manages to stop stuttering by clenching his jaw. He stares at a point just above Michael’s eyes.

“Gob, you’re my brother. And as much as I hate you, I’ll always love you. Okay?”

Gob nods, still avoiding Michael’s eyes, as he starts to feel a lump in his throat and a prickling in his eyes.

“I still want an apology, though—”

But Michael is cut off by Gob suddenly squeezing him too tightly for him to continue speaking. “I’m so sorry, Mikey.”

“Okay, well thank you… Gob… please let go of me.”

“Fine, you _robot._ ” Gob sniffs and wipes at his eyes. He stands there awkwardly for a second. “Don’t tell mom and dad.”

Michael sighs. “I’ll tell them you drugged me because I figured out one of your magic tricks.”

“ _Illusions_ , Michael.”

Michael glares at him.

***

Sally thinks back to the first time it occurred to her that maybe Tony actually _was_ gay. It was when he’d zoned out and started babbling about ruining his life with Gob. Well, she might have realized it a _few_ minutes after that happened. But again, it was around that time.

She’s reminded of that time again as Tony lays out his new plan for her, in that simultaneously eager and smug way that he’s always describing his plans.

“—So I’ll be running the Sitwell company, but I’ll be able to keep an eye on the Bluths. It’ll be perfect. _Then_ , there’s no way they’ll actually be able to compete with us. We didn’t get the Fakeblock money, but that’s okay. Sitwell money might be better since we actually know it’s a real company. And then once we’ve raised over twenty or thirty mil, I can finally pitch _The Magic Show_ —“

Sally pinches the bridge of her nose and waves at Tony to stop. “Can you explain again, very specifically, how we’re going to be spying on the Bluth Company?”

“Shit, lady, you are honestly just obsessed with recapping things we’ve already discussed, aren’t you?” But Sally is just standing there, expressionless, staring at him, so he relents. “Because Gob is president.”

“Yeah, I got that part, Tony, I mean how are you going to get useful information out of him? Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious?”

“No, see, because we already agreed to keep seeing each other, so it won’t be weird.”

Sally tries to raise an eyebrow, doesn’t succeed, but still ends up looking skeptical enough that Tony gets the idea.

“Don’t worry though,” Tony adds quickly. “We said just hands.”

Sally has _no_ idea what to say that that. She supposes… she supposes it’s not a _horrible_ plan. I mean, does she think that Gob Bluth would tell Tony company secrets just because Tony is jerking him off? Yeah, she’s pretty sure of that part. Does she think Gob Bluth actually _knows_ any company secrets? Especially ones she hasn’t already figured out for herself? No. No, she doesn’t think that at all.

“Okay, Tony, I mean, setting aside how incredibly weird that is, and how much weirder still it is that you’re discussing this with your fiancee—“

“That’s why I said just hands, so it doesn’t count!”

“Like I said, let’s put a pin in that.” She sighs. “I’m just not sure Gob is the most useful contact within the company. I don’t think he understands how any of it works. If anything, he’ll probably tell you stuff that’s not even true.”

“Hey,” Tony says defensively. “You’re not giving him enough credit, he has some great ideas. Like what about Fuck City? The town full of only single people? And how he filled his brother’s piece of shit homes with sex offenders because they were the only people with a reason to live there?”

Okay, so Sally has to admit that Gob _had_ managed to find the one demographic that could actually fill those homes. Maybe Tony has a point. Probably not, but maybe. Besides, if her fiancé wants to stick his hands down some guy’s pants and tell himself it’s to get useful information, whatever. She’s not going to get in the way of that.

Although she does acknowledge to herself that that thought is just about as weird as the plan Tony is proposing.

“Okay, do what you want,” she says. “Let me know if you find anything out.” After a pause, she clarifies: “Anything business-related. I don’t need to know how many freckles he has on his ass or what he calls you in bed.”

“He just calls me Tony.”

Sally stares at Tony for a _long_ time. A lot goes through her mind. Mostly about her own life choices. How she should probably be surprised that he’s already slept with Gob, but how she’s actually not. And how she actually chose to invest an incredible amount of time and money into this man who thinks it’s not gay if you only use hands, and even _beyond_ that, thinks that Gob holds the key to unlocking the Bluth family secrets.

_Well,_ she thinks, _at least my gay husband will be hotter than Lindsay’s gay husband._

***

Tony is a little put out that Sally doesn’t like his plan. 

She hasn’t really trusted _any_ of his plans since he was found out by the gay mafia and forced to stay out of the magic scene until Gob arranged something with them. And even now, it’s not like he can go back to pretending to be gay, so he’s pretty sure he’s lost almost his entire fanbase.

One thing he’s relieved about, though, is that she’s not actually _opposed_ to it. He’d been afraid that she wouldn’t like him messing around with Gob, you know, since she’s his fiancee. But she hadn’t even contradicted him on the idea that just hands didn’t count. That’s why he’s marrying her—she’s smart. She gets it.

So now that he’s gotten _that_ obstacle out of the way… he can finally call Gob.

Or can he?

Tony thinks about it for a second. It’s only been like _one day_ since they’d agreed to their whole… thing. What if Gob is freaked out because Tony calls him too soon? He doesn’t want to look desperate. Because he’s _not_ desperate.

And side note… Is there any kind of proper terminology for his “thing” with Gob? They’re not fuck buddies, because they’re _not_ buddies, and they’re _not_ fucking (it’s just hands, that’s not fucking). Are they friends with benefits? _No,_ because again, they’re not friends. That part had been very explicit.

But there _are_ benefits… like the information he’s going to get out of Gob to help the Sitwell company. And the other thing, of course. The hand thing.

It’s not weird to think of that as a benefit, is it?

“Hey, Sally?” Sally’s moved on to reading in the kitchen, done with their conversation, but Tony still needs her opinion on something.

She looks up from her book, sighing. “What, Tony?”

“Is it gay to like, actually _want_ to do this ‘just hands’ thing with Gob?”

Sally stares at him for a few seconds, then looks back down at her book. “I don’t know, _you’re_ the gay magician. You tell me.”

“Come _on,_ Sally, stop playing around. You know I’m not really the gay magician.” Jeez, she of _all_ people should know that.

Sally sighs. “Well then, I think whatever you think.”

Tony nods. That seems to settle it. It’s _not_ gay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting up both chapters 2 and 3 today because Blackmail is in the title of this fic and so I figure probably we should get to the blackmail. :)

It’s not even two full days before Lindsay gives up on her declaration that she and Tobias are a family again. Sure, there’s probably some truth in the idea that her mother’s—sister’s—anger made her into a terrible partner and mother. And sure, she knows that she could try a lot harder in this relationship, that maybe she even _should_ , for Maeby’s sake.

But _goddamn,_ she doesn’t think even the healthiest, most well-adjusted person could stay that way being married to Tobias. It’s not worth the effort to try.

So again she finds herself tearing through her closet, looking for the _best_ clothes for having an affair. She needs to go shopping. She needs to get her hair done. God, why did she cut it all off again? It’s going to take forever to grow back—

“Hi, Lindsay.”

Lindsay spins around, clutching a piece of fabric that barely passes for a shirt. “Oh, hi Michael. I didn’t know you were here.”

Michael sighs heavily and sits down on her bed.

“Michael? What’s wrong?”

He snaps his head up. “What’s _wrong?_ Lindsay, what’s _not_ wrong? I thought everything was finally going to be all right now. I thought we were going to go at least a few _months_ without any of our family members being in jail.”

Lindsay sits next to him and gives him a sympathetic look. “Michael, you should really know better by now than to hope for _that_ …”

Michael rubs his temples. “Just please, Lindsay, tell me you’re not doing anything illegal. At least not any felonies. I can’t deal with it anymore. Mom and dad with their embezzlement, they _never learn_ —Buster’s literally a _murderer_ , Gob _drugged_ me…”

“Gob _drugged_ you? What happened, you figure out one of his magic tricks?”

Michael looks at Lindsay wearily. “No, I—well, I promised him I wouldn’t tell mom and dad.”

“I won’t tell them.”

“Good, because I really don’t want them to know either. But there’s no way in hell I can keep this to myself. I just—I just don’t understand it. Maybe you—I mean, you’re married to _Tobias_ …”

“Oh god, forget it Michael, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to know anything about this.” She stands up and starts sorting through her clothes again.

“Come on, Lindsay, I just meant—Tobias is—well, he’s—” Michael frowns. He gets up, looks into the hallway, and closes the door. “Gob slept with a man.”

Lindsay whips around, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. “What? _Really?_ ”

“I know, I know… Tony Wonder. I saw him wearing Gob’s bathrobe. Right afterwards. That’s why he drugged me.”

“That’s so… sad.” Lindsay glances towards the bedroom door with a look of concern. _Genuine_ concern. She’s a little surprised to realize this, but she actually feels _bad_ for Gob. Maybe divorcing Tobias is making her more compassionate.

“I guess it is when you think about it,” Michael mumbles. Then he raises his head with a start. “Well that explains his weird magic trick at the parade with that closet company.”

“His what?”

“Oh right, you weren’t there… He did this stupid trick with Tony Wonder where they went into closets and switched sexualities. And it was on the float for this closet conversion company.”

“Well that makes it sound like one of those places that does gay conversion therapy.”

“I think that’s what Gob thought too.” Michael presses his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What an idiot. And then he goes on that stupid show, _As It Is Such to You_ or whatever…”

“ _Michael!_ That’s _horrible!_ Your own brother was in so much pain that he wanted to get _conversion therapy_ , and all you can talk about is how stupid he is!”

“Lindsay, I swear to _God,_ if you turn this into one of your causes—”

“I’ve always been passionate about gay rights, Michael,” she says haughtily.

Michael stares at her incredulously. “You have got to be kidding.”

“That’s why I’m divorcing Tobias, Michael! He shouldn’t feel forced to stay in a marriage with a woman. He needs to be free.”

Michael groans. “Lindsay, please…”

“Michael, I’ve found my new purpose. I’m going to end conversion therapy!”

“Lindsay, it’s _already illegal for minors—_ ” But she’s already out the door.

***

Gob hasn’t talked to Tony since the wall unveiling, because he knows they said they couldn’t be friends. Calling him would probably blur that line. On second thought… could he _text_ him? Texting is just hands, after all.

_hey tony do u want 2 hang out?_

After typing it out, he thinks for a second, puts a little hand emoji at the end, and sends it. He’s pretty proud of himself. He’s known how to text for a while, obviously, but George Michael just recently taught him how to use emojis. God, he still can’t believe Fakeblock was never real, because that kid is clearly a tech genius.

Tony’s text comes back less than three minutes later: _Sure, how about tonight at my place, 7:30? :)_

Gob’s stomach feels like it’s full of butterflies. Or bees. Hours later, when he gets to Tony’s, his stomach is _still_ full of bees. The bees seem to multiply when Tony answers the door.

“Hey, Gob, come on in.” Tony looks great. Really, he _always_ looks great, because he’s an exceptionally attractive man, and if any guy tells you he can’t see that because he’s straight, well then he’s a fucking liar.

As they walk into the kitchen, Tony says, “You want some wine?”

“Sure, I love red wine.” Gob’s trying to lean casually against the kitchen island, but feels like he’s utterly failing, since every position feels awkward as hell.

“So, how’s it been going?”

“Well, to be honest, not great… My brother is a murderer, I mean sure that’s been a thing for a while, but now we _know…_ Wait, are we allowed to talk about stuff like this? Since we’re not friends?” Never really having _had_ any friends, Gob isn’t totally sure which interactions should be off-limits.

Tony seems to give it some thought, then grins. “Eh, why not. What’s it gonna hurt?”

Gob smiles as they move to the living room and sit down on the couch. “How’s it been going for you?”

“Not bad. Sally and I are engaged now. Hey, you ever hook back up with Joni?”

Gob blinks as he’s taken aback for a second, but recovers quickly. “No, I… I decided not to. She’s not really my type, you know.” He takes a sip of wine.

The truth is that he _did_ call Joni, and she’d wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, she’d laughed at him and said, “If I wanted a man who’ll just stand in my bedroom and cry, I’d go back to my ex-husband.” And then she’d hung up. But yeah, Gob isn’t going to mention that to Tony.

“It’s all right, man, you’ll find someone.”

Gob laughs nervously. He’s watching the way Tony’s hands move as he talks, the way his goatee is tugged up with his mouth when he smiles. The way his eyes are looking at him like they _see_ him, the same way they did the last time he was on this couch, the same way they did on Cinco, the same way they did at the wall unveiling. He takes another large sip of wine. “Thanks. The right person is, well he— _she_ —needs to have a lot of specific, um…” What the fuck is he saying? _Shut up,_ he tells himself.

Tony looks at him curiously for a split second, and Gob swears his heart all but stops, but then Tony’s back to his usual easy smile. “I know what you mean. Sally is… you know… I mean, she’s great? She’s great. Yeah. Do you want some more wine?”

Gob nods, eager for the chance to talk about anything that _isn’t_ Sally Sitwell or Joni Beard.

They drink for a while, chatting idly about… well, everything, really. Magic. Life. It’s comfortable. Familiar somehow.

At one point a stretch of silence breaks up the conversation, and Gob leans in towards Tony, so that he’s _sure_ Tony can feel his breath on his ear. “Hey,” Gob says, grinning slyly, his voice dropping lower. “I came over here for just hands, right?”

He’s honestly anxious out of his mind, but slipping into the seduction script makes everything easier. A lot of stuff about Tony confuses him, but as far as Gob is concerned, the art of seduction is gender-neutral.

Tony smiles back slowly, in a way that makes Gob’s heart stutter. He presses his hand against Gob’s thigh. “Yeah, you did.”

***

Lindsay is looking for Gob, and her best guess for where to find him is at the model home. Does he live there? She honestly has no idea where he lives.

Well, maybe he _does_ live at the model home, because that’s where she finds him. He’s sitting on the couch, watching a mouse disappear and reappear into his hand.

“Ew,” Lindsay says. “I want to talk to you, but I need you to put that away.”

“Well,” Gob says, standing up. “Good thing I’m a magician, because I’ll just make this mouse _disappear._ ” He slaps his hands together and spreads them apart. The mouse is gone.

“Very impressive,” Lindsay says insincerely. “You’re friends with Tony Wonder, right?”

Gob looks a little caught off guard at the question. “No, we’re just—we’re bitter business rivals who see each other sometimes. Why do you care?”

“He’s engaged to Sally Sitwell, and I need a direct line to our congresswoman to take care of some _political activism._ ”

Halfway through her sentence, Gob starts walking into the kitchen and opens the fridge to pull out some mustard. How incredibly rude. “Is that supposed to be a euphemism for something? Anyway, you already know her, so why don’t you just go talk to her yourself?” He places the shaker of parmesan next to the mustard on the kitchen counter.

Lindsay is just the _tiniest bit_ offended that Gob hasn’t asked what her new political passion is. Especially since he’s the one who inspired it. But whatever, that’s not the point right now. “No, Gob, she _hates_ me. We’re rivals! She won’t listen to anything I tell her! That’s why I need you to ask Tony to talk to her.”

“Lindsay, I _just_ told you,” Gob says through a mouthful of cheese and mustard, “that Tony and I are rivals too.”

Lindsay smiles in a way she hopes is encouraging and understanding. “That’s different, Gob. Maybe you and Tony are rivals, but you _like_ each other. Sally and I _hate_ each other. That’s why you need to help me.”

Gob throws down his spoon. “Who says Tony and I _like_ each other? Who told you that?” Lindsay thinks he sounds a little overly agitated, but she guesses that’s not surprising given the circumstances.

She walks up to her brother and places her hands on the sides of his arms. “Gob,” she says, looking into his eyes. “I need you to organize a meeting for me with Sally, but she can’t know it’s me. Just convince Tony to convince her that this is important. That’s all.”

“Look, Lindsay, you’re freaking me out. If I talk to Tony, will you stop? I mean, stop looking at me like that and doing whatever… _this_ is?” He wriggles out of her arms.

Lindsay smiles. “Of course.”

“Then consider it done.”

***

Sally is sitting at the bar, waiting for whoever it is that she’s meeting tonight. All Tony had said was that this is someone Gob Bluth wants her to talk to, but that he doesn’t know who it is. One possibility is that Tony’s “plan” to get information out of Gob is actually working. Another explanation is that it’s _not_ , and that this is a waste of her time. Or even worse, it could be some plan of Gob’s to get information out of _Tony_.

…Nah, he’s not that clever.

She doesn’t have high hopes for this meeting, though, especially since Tony set it up. A lot of people are probably questioning what she’s even doing with him, why she wants him of all people to get involved in her father’s business.

Well, as far as she’s concerned he’s the perfect husband. Not super interested in emotional or romantic attachment. Good occasional fuck buddy. Clueless enough about the business that he has no reason to question what she tells him. And, you know, if he actually manages to get some information out of Gob, that’s just a bonus. Even though she knows he only came up with this convoluted scheme so that he could put his hands on Gob’s dick without admitting to himself that he likes it.

…Wow, that’s actually incredibly depressing. It’s a good thing she doesn’t care.

Someone sits down next to her, and she turns her head. Ugh, it’s Lindsay Bluth. Fünke. Whatever. “Hey, I’m actually saving that seat for some—” Sally realizes that this is who Gob wanted her to meet with. “Son of a bitch.” She takes a sip of her drink.

“Hi, Sally,” Lindsay says, that fake grin plastered across her face. Fake in the sense that her friendliness is an act, and also in the sense that Lindsay’s whole face is literally fake.

“I can’t believe you’re the one I’m here to meet.”

“I need some help from my local congresswoman.”

“Well, you’ve got her attention for at most five minutes.”

Lindsay crinkles her nose. “Don’t be such a bitch. Believe me, if I knew anyone else who could help me, I’d be talking to them instead.”

“Four minutes and thirty seconds…”

“ _Fine,_ I’ll make this short. I’ve recently become dedicated to the political cause of ending conversion therapy, and I want your help getting a bill into congress about it. Or something. However these things work, that’s what I want you to help me do.”

Sally starts to roll her eyes. She knows all about Lindsay’s causes. She could just tell her she’d take a week to think about it, and Lindsay will have forgotten all about it by the time the week’s up. Except—

“You know, I actually do know some people who would be _very_ willing to help with that.” 

“Really?” Lindsay is getting excited, animated. “Who?”

“Well, you’ll have to do something for me first.” Maybe the general _idea_ behind Tony’s “plan” isn’t bad. Maybe they _should_ be trying to get some information out of their competitors. And even though Lindsay is barely involved in the Bluth Company in any way, Sally would be willing to bet her best eyebrows that she knows more about it than Gob does.

Lindsay makes a face. “Well, I’m disappointed, Sally, but I’m not surprised. What do you want?”

“I want to know what the Bluth Company is planning on doing with the money they made from selling Fakeblock.” No reason to beat around the bush, honestly.

“I’m not even a part of—”

Sally holds up a hand. “I know. All I want is for you to promise to try to sniff out that info and meet me again in a week. I’ll give you some contacts. If you have anything useful for me in a week, I’ll consider helping you out myself.” She isn’t actually planning on helping Lindsay, obviously. She doubts Lindsay will even come back with anything. But the thought of Lindsay going to meet these particular “contacts” is too funny to pass up.

“You’ve got a deal.” Lindsay grins and holds out her hand to shake.

It occurs to Sally that the speed with which Lindsay is willing to give up her family probably means she has little to no investment in the business. Well, the worst that can happen is that Argyle _doesn’t_ throw Lindsay into Newport Bay wearing a pair of strappy cement sandals. She smiles and shakes Lindsay’s hand. “There’s a group who calls itself the Gay Mafia…”


	3. Chapter 3

Tony is lying in bed, half naked, running his fingers—no, his _hands_ —through Gob’s hair. As long as it’s just _hands_ , it doesn’t have to mean anything. Gob’s hair is kind of sweaty, but it’s resting on Tony’s chest, which is also kind of sweaty, so whatever.

But he thinks Gob might be falling asleep, and that would _definitely_ be crossing some lines, so he decides it’s time to say something. “Whoever you wanted Sally to meet with, she saw them last night.”

“Oh, it was my sister Lindsay,” Gob says sleepily.

“She came back asking all these questions about the Gay Mafia.”

Gob props himself up on his elbow and looks at Tony quizzically. “Really? Like what?”

Tony glances at Gob’s bare chest, but it’s only for half a second, so it’s basically like he didn’t look at all. “Like, you know, how they do business, whether they ever get involved in political policy, how likely they are to _actually_ give someone cement overshoes and throw them into the bay…” Tony shrugs.

“What the hell did Lindsay say to her?” Gob mumbles to himself.

“Dunno. Sally didn’t talk about that.”

“I mean, I know it’s one of her fake political causes she’s always pretending to care about. So I didn’t bother to ask. But I really hope she’s not doing anything to get me in trouble with them again.” He flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Same.”

Gob looks sideways at Tony and smiles that crooked smile, the one Tony likes so much but also _hates_ because he likes it so much. Tony watches as Gob sits up and swings his long legs off the bed, the sheet fully falling off him.

“Hey, Gob—“

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking—“

“I try not to do that too often.”

Tony laughs. “Same, but sometimes I think without even thinking about it, you know?”

“Same.”

Tony smiles to himself. “Anyway, I was thinking, I know we originally said ‘just hands,’ but, well, we’ve been talking a lot.”

Gob turns around and looks at him, confused. “You want to start using sign language? I don’t know sign language.”

“No! I mean, that’s kind of a great idea and I wish I’d thought of it before, but I just mean we’ve been talking, and everything seems to be going fine even though talking isn’t hands. Really, talking is mouths—”

Gob turns around to face Tony, still sitting on the bed and looking serious. “So you think we should change the rule to ‘just hands and mouths?’”

“I mean, yeah, if you—”

Gob’s face slowly breaks into a feral, crooked grin, and he lurches forward, biting down on Tony’s neck.

“Well, that was a freebie,” Tony gasps.

***

The gay mafia is _not_ located where Lindsay thought it would be. At the bottom of a dirty, old quarry? What the hell?

But she knocks on the trailer door anyway, and is greeted by a stoic, muscular man wearing a dark suit. Lindsay reflexively starts twirling her hair, turning on her charm—then remembers that this is the _gay_ mafia. That’s not going to do any good here.

She’s ushered into a room that’s _much_ less gross than the outside of the trailer. A tall, skinny man with gray hair is sitting behind a desk, smiling at her over steepled fingers. “Lindsay Bluth, I assume?”

“Oh!” Lindsay laughs. “Yes, how did you know?”

“I have my sources.” He rests his ridiculously long legs on top of the desk and leans back in his chair. He’s wearing a pale yellow dress shirt under a powder blue suit, and yellow argyle socks under blue leather shoes. “My name is Argyle Austero.”

Lindsay blinks, and her smile falters a little. “Austero? Like—”

“Like Lucille, yes. Your younger brother murdered my older sister.”

Suddenly Lindsay is feeling nervous. Sure, this is the _gay_ mafia, but it’s still a _mafia,_ and she can’t imagine their boss would be happy with anyone in his sister’s murderer’s family. She plasters on a sympathetic smile. “I’m very sorry about that, but I assure you I had nothing—”

Argyle waves his hand lazily. “It doesn’t matter. As I told your older brother, we never really got along.”

“My… older brother?”

“Well, technically he’s younger than you, isn’t he? And he’s actually your nephew, isn’t that right?” He smiles slyly. “I’m talking about Gob.”

“You talked to Gob?” Lindsay is feeling more confused by the second.

“Well, we couldn’t let him keep pretending to be gay. We don’t stand for that kind of thing here.” His bodyguards nod in agreement. “And then when he was going to go for conversion therapy… Well, obviously we had to put a stop to _that._ ”

“Well, to be fair, I’m not sure he was pretending—but conversion therapy, what a coincidence, that’s exactly what I came to talk to you about!”

“…I’m listening.”

“I was referred here by someone who told me you’d be willing to help me put an end to it.”

Argyle bursts into laughter. “Oh, honey, if we could stop conversion therapy, don’t you think we would have _done_ it by now?”

Lindsay’s face falls. She hadn’t thought about that. It seems so obvious _now._ “Damn it, of course Sally would give me a useless referral…” she mutters.

“Wait, did you say Sally? Sally Sitwell? Our congresswoman?” Argyle leans forward over his desk, sharing a significant look with one of his bodyguards. “You know, if we could collaborate with people in legitimate channels, we might actually be able to get some stuff done.”

Lindsay starts to feel excited again. “Well, that’s great!”

“You get Sally’s support, and bring her here to discuss logistics. But don’t even think about coming here until you do that, or the last thing you’ll hear will be… _this._ ” Argyle pushes up out of his chair and dances in a circle. His shoes click on the floor.

Lindsay wants to ask him what he’s doing, but she’s too… confused. So she just stares at him with her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed.

“I’m tap dancing on your grave, sweetie.”

“Ah!” Lindsay smiles politely. “Then I’ll make sure not to come back until I have Sally with me. Thank you so much for your time.” She turns on her heel and quickly exits the trailer. 

Now she knows that the next thing she needs to do is get her hands on some family business secrets.

***

Michael is sitting in the office “conference room” (really an enormous table wedged between dentist’s chairs), flipping through the financial books. Both of them. One of his conditions to his parents was that if he was going to stay and help the family, they were going to have to stop hiding things about the business from him. He almost regrets that decision as he looks at the mess of numbers in front of him.

He already has a headache, but it gets worse when he sees Lindsay sweep in, wearing that smile that means she wants something.

“What do you want, Lindsay?”

Lindsay does a fairly unconvincing impression of being offended. “Michael! Can’t I come check up on my favorite brother? Can’t I take an interest in the health of the company?”

“I’m only your favorite brother by process of elimination, because one is a murderer and the other is a complete idiot.” He flips a page in one of the books. “Besides, I’m actually your nephew.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snaps. She sits down next to Michael at the conference table.

Michael closes the book he’s looking at. “Seriously, Lindsay, what do you want?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m wondering where all that Fakeblock money is going.”

Michael stares at her. “We didn’t make any money from Fakeblock. We traded it to the Chinese in return for them forgiving our debt.”

“Oh.”

“So if you’re looking for extra money to fund your affair, you’re not going to find it here.”

Lindsay glares at him. “That is _not_ why—”

“And besides, even if we _did_ have any extra money, it would all be going to the Guilty Guys. They’re _damn_ expensive _._ We should have just let them plead guilty for Buster in the first place, would have saved us all a hell of a lot of… well, everything.” He passes a hand over his face.

Lindsay puts her hand on Michael’s shoulder and gives him a small smile. “Well, I’m sure Buster appreciates it. You’re a good brother, Michael.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“How _are_ we paying for them, anyway?”

Michael looks at her suspiciously. What is she up to? “Since when have you taken such an interest in the company financials?”

“Oh, Michael. I want this family to thrive just as much as you do.”

“Well, we’ll find a way to pay them. There’s always money in the banana stand.”

Lindsay tilts her head. “Is that from something?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It must be from _something._ I’ve been trying to think of what it is, but I just keep drawing a blank.” Seriously, it feels like he’s been racking his brains for the answer to that for _years._

“I’m sure you’ll remember eventually.” Lindsay looks around the room. “You sure you don’t need some help around here?”

“Believe me, I’m getting _more_ than enough ‘help’ from Gob.”

“Thank God, because I was only offering out of politeness.” She smiles at him. “See you later, Michael!” And with that, she walks out the door.

Michael watches her leave, sighs, and then goes back to looking at the books. Someone’s got to do it, right? Someone has to focus on keeping the family together rather than having affairs, covering up murders, stealing money, and whatever it is Gob does all day.

***

It turns out that what Gob does all day is practice coin tricks, stare at the ceiling, play spider solitaire, and try not to think about Tony Wonder. He does a pretty good job at the first three activities—well, he’s admittedly not great at spider solitaire—but he can’t deny he’s failing at that last one. Not to himself, at least. To anyone else, he would _definitely_ deny it.

After losing five games in a row, Gob figures it’s probably time for him to check his email again, so he wanders down to the third floor. Most of the stuff in his inbox is boring junk—meeting notes, financial memos, that damn mailer daemon again—but there’s one that actually looks interesting. Well, it’s in all caps, so Gob figures it has to be important. The subject line says “URGENT BLACKMAIL NOTIFICATION” and the body is empty, but it has an attachment.

It turns out that the attachment is a picture of what looks like… a ransom note? All the letters are cut out from newspapers, and it says:

 

_Gob Bluth,_

_I have your sex tape from the night of Cinco de Cuatro. I don’t think you would want anyone to see it, would you? It would be a shame if it were leaked to the media. If you want to prevent this from happening, you’ll have $500k ready for my man when he finds you exactly two weeks from today. If you don’t, you’ll be seeing yourself on TV very soon._

_\- Anonymous_

 

Shit. The tapes from _To Entrap a Local Predator_. Gob knows that _k_ means a thousand, and he doesn’t have _five hundred thousand dollars._ He doesn’t think he could even em— _borrow_ five hundred thousand dollars from the company. Michael would never give it to him even if they had that much. And in only two weeks?

Shit.

He looks at the note’s author. _Anonymous._ Didn’t George Michael mention someone named Anonymous? Maybe the kid can trace the email or something. Well, two in the afternoon seems like as good a time as any to leave work. Michael’s got it covered.

Thirty minutes later he’s knocking on George Michael’s door in Sudden Valley.

The boy opens the door. “Uncle Gob? What are you doing here?”

Gob looks over both shoulders. “Not out here,” he whispers, ushering George Michael inside and closing the door. “This is private. And _urgent._ ”

“Is everything okay?”

Gob turns to him with a grim expression, his hands on his hips. “No, everything is not okay. I got this email—shit.” He throws up his hands. “I don’t have it with me. I got it on the third floor, and the only printer we have is that two-hour tooth printer, and that’s on the fourth floor anyway—”

George Michael is starting to look agitated, but he goes to the kitchen table and turns on his laptop. “We can get it from here, what’s your password?”

“Password?”

“Yeah, like what you use to log in to your email at the office.” He’s looking at Gob expectantly.

“I don’t have a password, my email is just on the computer.”

George Michael turns back to the laptop and types for a moment. Then he sighs. “Uncle Gob, your password is ‘password.’ You really should consider changing it.”

Gob is just a little bit horrified. “You hacked into the _office?_ If Fakeblock were real, this would never happen…”

“I didn’t hack into anything! Your email is just on the internet and you have a really weak password.”

“Whatever.” Honestly, Gob still can’t believe that Fakeblock was fake the whole time. This kid is obviously a genius. “Do you see the email I got?”

“I’m assuming it’s this one that says ‘urgent blackmail notification?’”

“That’s the one. It’s from Anonymous.”

George Michael furrows his brow and opens the email. “I am absolutely not clicking on this attachment.”

“But the whole email is in the attachment!”

“I don’t want to get any malware—okay, fine, I’ll just download it to Something Drive, hopefully it’ll scan it…” He clicks around a bit and the note pops up on the computer. He reads it silently, then turns slowly and looks up at Gob, a puzzled expression on his face.

“It’s from Anonymous. You know, the guy foxes,” Gob says.

“Uncle Gob, I don’t think this is from—why wouldn’t they just type it? What’s the point of scanning a picture of newspaper clippings?”

Gob rolls his eyes. “It’s so I can’t identify them by their handwriting.”

“Yeah, but even if they typed it—never mind.” George Michael glances back at the note. “I do _not_ want to know who or what is on this sex tape, so please don’t tell me, but is it really worth five hundred thousand dollars to prevent it from getting to the media?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure how I can help… It looks like it came from a throwaway email address. If you take it to the police they might be able to trace the IP address it came from, but that’s not really useful if they sent it from a library or using their data plan or something…”

Gob waves his hand dismissively. “See, all that tech stuff. That’s why I brought it to you. I don’t care about their ‘ip address’ or whatever. I just want to know if this is for real.”

“I have no idea. Maybe you _should_ take it to the police.”

Gob barks a laugh. “As if I want the cops finding out about my sex tape too!”

“Then I guess the only thing you can really do is try to figure out who this could be… Who would have had access to it?”

“Well, John Beard would.”

George Michael stares at him for a long time. He looks like he’s about to ask something, but then he shakes his head. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Do you think _John Beard_ is blackmailing me?”

“I don’t know—probably not? But I don’t know him personally, so really who knows…”

Gob crosses his arms and stares up at the ceiling for a minute, thinking. “I think I know who I need to see about this. Thanks, George Michael. Can you text me the picture of that note?”

Gob hears George Michael say “you’re welcome,” but he’s already halfway to the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn those guy foxes.


	4. Chapter 4

The knock on the trailer door means that this is the _second_ visitor today without an appointment. This is getting out of hand. Argyle Austero spins around in his chair, and who does he see standing in front of him?

Gob Bluth.

“Mr. Bluth! How good to see you again.” It’s not good to see him. His fake smile probably communicates that well enough.

“I need your help with something.”

Well, that’s presumptuous. “And what makes you think I want to help you?”

“I did what you asked! I went to conversion therapy and I told everyone it didn’t work.”

“But then you magically turned yourself straight. So I’m not sure that really counts as doing as I asked. Perhaps _just_ enough that I’d decided to ignore it.” He gives Gob a significant look.

“Well I think you’ll be interested in this.” He holds out his phone, which shows a picture of some kind of ransom note.

Argyle reads it, then raises his eyebrows at Gob. “Why would I care even the slightest bit about your sex tape?”

“Because it was with—” Gob hesitates, visibly nervous. “It was with Tony Wonder.”

Now _that_ is news. Very interesting news. Argyle leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You have a sex tape with Tony Wonder.”

“Well—sort of. At the model home there were all these cameras from _Entrap a Local Predator_ , and they were on when we—um.”

“Fucked?”

“R-right. Exactly.”

“And you wanted me to do what about it?”

“I want to find the person who sent this and stop them from showing everyone the tape.”

Argyle spins slowly in his chair, his back now to Gob. “That _would_ be a devastating way to be outed…” he mumbles to himself. “Obviously we wouldn’t want that happening to anyone, no matter _how_ incredibly annoying they are… But this one’s a strange case, he already _pretended_ to out himself…”

It seems like Gob is listening. “I’m not gay,” he says loudly, trying to get Argyle’s attention.

Argyle spins back around. “Why are you here, then? If you’re not gay, why should I care?”

Gob starts hyperventilating. “I’m not—I mean—sh-should—should the—I’m not, but I—I love—I love Tony Wonder.”

Argyle raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. We do call ourselves the Gay Mafia, but we’re very inclusive. If you’d prefer, you can think of us as the LGBTQ Mafia.”

“I—the what?”

“The lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer mafia.”

“I’m not—I mean, I’m straight.”

“You’re straight but you’re in love with a man?”

Gob nods.

Argyle laughs and claps his hands. “As straight as a California highway!” He looks at one of his guards. “And I _know_ those aren’t straight.”

“No, they’re definitely not, boss.”

Argyle nods. “Now, see who we have available to look into this. This man is obviously an idiot, but we have no choice but to help him. This is a humiliating way of being outed as gay… or bisexual.” He looks at Gob and raises his eyebrows.

“I’m not—”

“You’re dismissed.”

Instead of leaving, Gob just stands there and stares at Argyle.

“What are you still doing—oh, wait. There was one more thing I wanted to ask you. Does Mr. Wonder know about the tape?”

“N—no, I mean I’m not even sure he knows… it exists.”

“A word of advice? He deserves to know. And if you love him, you’ll tell him.”

Gob looks like he’s going to say something else, but then he turns and walks out the door.

***

Lindsay is flipping through a magazine at the model home when Gob walks in. She looks up and smiles at him. “Hey Gob. You seen Tony lately?”

Gob seems distracted, but when Lindsay speaks he snaps his head to look at her. “Why do you want to know if I’ve seen Tony?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She looks back down at her magazine and pretends to read. “I just think you two are cute together.”

“Who—who told—did you see—” Gob moves his mouth wordlessly. Then he narrows his eyes. “ _Michael_ ,” he growls.

“Come on Gob, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“If you tell mom and dad, I am going to _kill_ you, Lindsay.”

Lindsay throws her magazine on the coffee table. “I would _never_ do that, Gob!”

“And don’t tell anyone else either. Where is Michael? I need to beat the shit out of him.”

“He’s not here. And don’t do that. He just wants you to be happy. Like I do.”

Gob looks for a second like he might believe her, but then he scoffs. “Whatever, Lindsay. I don’t even remember why I came here. If you see Michael, punch him for me. See you later.” And he walks back out the front door.

Lindsay picks her magazine back up and flips through it for a few minutes before she remembers she needs to get in touch with Sally. She’s not sure if the info she got from Michael is enough for Sally to consider helping her. If it’s not, she needs to find out sooner rather than later, so she can get something better before the week is up.

She calls Sally’s cell, but there’s no answer, so she tries her home number. Someone picks up.

“Hello, Sitwell residence.”

“Who is this? I’d like to talk to Sally.”

“This is Tony Wonder. Who is _this?_ ”

Lindsay cannot _believe_ her luck. “Hi Tony! This is Lindsay Bluth. Fünke. Whatever. You know, I was _just_ talking to my brother Gob…”

Tony doesn’t respond for a second. “Did you say you were looking for Sally? She’s here, I can get her for you.”

“No, no, I’d love to talk to _you._ ” Lindsay smiles. She knows Tony can’t see her, but she’s hoping it comes out in her voice.

“…About what?”

“About my brother, Gob. You two are friends, right?”

“No, we’re just bitter business rivals who see each other sometimes.”

Lindsay laughs. “Gob said the same exact thing to me.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page then.”

Lindsay forgets for a second why she called. “You know, if you get tired of Sally and Gob, feel free to give me a call,” she says flirtatiously.

The line is silent for a full ten seconds. Finally, Tony says, “I’m gonna put Sally on.”

A few seconds later, Sally is on the line. “What did you say to Tony? He looks a little freaked out.”

“Oh, nothing. I have some information that might interest you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Meet at that same bar to talk about it?” This will be the first time she’s _ever_ willingly seen Sally twice in two days, but she supposes desperate times call for desperate measures.

“See you there,” Sally says, and hangs up.

***

Sally can hardly believe that Lindsay got the information she wanted in less than twenty-four hours. She’s at the same bar two nights in a row. Well, if Lindsay doesn’t come through, she’ll make her buy her a drink. Then at least she’ll get _something_ out of this meeting.

“Hello, Sally.”

Sally doesn’t say anything in response, just takes a sip of her drink and nods as Lindsay sits down.

“To be honest, Sally, I did get some information out of Michael, but I’m not sure if it’s what you’re looking for. I don’t really have a sense of what counts as ‘scandalous’ when it comes to money.”

Sally isn’t surprised. There’s probably a lot of stuff Lindsay sees as financially savvy, but that the law would see as embezzlement. Or at least shady. That family is an absolute train wreck.

“Before we get to that, Lindsay… I have some advice for you. If you’re trying to get someone to help you out? Consider not flirting with her fiancé over the phone.”

Lindsay laughs. “Sorry about that, it’s just a reflex at this point. You have nothing to worry about from me. Don’t get me wrong, it would be a lot of fun to steal your boyfriend, but I’m not about to go after someone when I’d be competing with you _and_ my brother.”

“Your—you know about Tony and Gob?”

“Of course.” Lindsay smiles dreamily. “Don’t you think they’re cute together?”

“Lindsay, he’s my _fiancé._ ” Is she stupid? What is going on here?

“I’m aware of that. But I also know you don’t really care about him, at least not beyond how he’s useful to you. You’ve never given a shit about guys.”

Well, that’s true enough. “I’m surprised you were ever aware enough to notice that.”

“We’re more alike than you think. That’s why we hate each other so much. You know I only married Tobias to piss off my father. Speaking of which, if you ever need advice on having a husband who’s not entirely into women…”

Sally laughs despite herself. “Tony’s a good enough fuck regardless.”

“More than I can say for Tobias.” Lindsay rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, Tony always says that the only thing he’s better at than fucking women is pretending to be gay.”

Lindsay blinks at her incredulously, and then they both start laughing. “For Tobias I’d say the only thing he’s _worse_ at than fucking women is pretending _not_ to be gay.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She’s not really sorry, but she is starting to feel a kind of warmth towards Lindsay that she hadn’t been expecting.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m looking to have an affair anyway.” Suddenly the smile drops from her face. “Wait, did you say Tony is _pretending_ to be gay? He’s not going to break Gob’s heart, is he?”

Sally gives a very unladylike snort. “Well, I can’t say anything for your brother’s heart, but if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he’s pretending.”

Lindsay nods, apparently satisfied with that answer. “Well, anyway, you want to hear what I have for you?”  
“Of course.” Sally leans in closer to hear what the Bluths are up to, hoping it’s something more juicy than mundane.

“Well, it turns out there isn’t any Fakeblock money.”

Sally looks at Lindsay, confused.

“Apparently we were in debt to the Chinese, and when we sold them Fakeblock, all they did was forgive our debt. We didn’t make anything off of it.”

Well that’s a little disappointing in terms of scandal, but not bad in terms of Sitwell’s position.

“ _But,_ Michael did say that if we _had_ made any money from Fakeblock, it would be going to Buster’s attorneys. And he implied that that’s where the banana stand money is going.”

“Hmm.” Depending on the logistics of that, it _could_ constitute embezzlement. And embezzlement to fund court bills for a confessed murderer? That would be pretty bad—or good, depending on how you look at it.

“Anyway, if you think that’s good enough information, Argyle Austero says he’ll help me if you come see him.”

“I’m sorry, Argyle Austero?”

“The leader of the gay mafia.”

“Lucille Austero’s brother is the _leader of the gay mafia?_ ”

“I _know_ , right? I was surprised too! Well, not that he’s gay. Obviously. I mean that he’s a mob boss. Now _that,_ I did not expect.”

Now this is something new to Sally. She wonders if Lucille’s campaign funds— _Sally’s own campaign funds_ —came from the mob. God, if that ever got out… “You know what, Lindsay? I will go with you. I’d love to have a chat with Argyle.”

Lindsay smiles. “Let me buy you a drink.”

***

When Gob opens the door to his house, he doesn’t look as excited to see Tony as he usually does. “Hey, man,” Tony says. “Everything all right?”

“Hey Tony, I just—I need to talk to you about something.” Gob lets him in and then starts pacing back and forth in the foyer.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that, right?” Tony’s not sure he’s ever said that before. At least not sincerely. …But wait, that sounds like a _very_ friendly thing to say, and aren’t they supposed to _not_ be friends? Whatever, he’ll figure that out later.

Gob stops pacing and turns to Tony, fidgeting with his hands. “I just don’t want you to hate me. You’re the only person who actually _likes_ me, you know?”

“Hey, same,” Tony says, consciously ignoring the fact that they’re not supposed to like each other. He walks up to Gob and puts his hand on Gob’s upper arm. “So what’s up?”

Gob’s staring at Tony’s hand, not his face. “Do you… what do you remember from Cinco?”

Tony’s hand drops from Gob’s arm. “Why? What do _you_ remember from Cinco?”

Gob looks up at Tony’s face, and they stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Did you—” they both start. Both their eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Gob says.

“Neither did I,” Tony says. His heart is pounding. This whole time he’d thought Gob had taken a forget-me-now after Cinco. But he didn’t. Did he? That’s what they’re talking about, right?

“Just to be clear,” Gob says, “we’re talking about how neither one of us took a forget-me-now after Cinco, right?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Tony says. “Same! I mean, that’s what I’m talking about. I didn’t take one.”

“Neither did I.”

Tony’s heart rate increases as he thinks about what they’d done that night. “So that means we both remember that we—”

But Gob interrupts. “Did you know there were cameras here?”

Tony cocks his head. “Well, yeah.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I mean, whats-her-face said that if we had sex, we could out you as gay. So I assumed there was some kind of camera, otherwise that wouldn’t make a lot of sense.”

Gob raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you’re really smart. I didn’t… I didn’t realize you’d talked to her beforehand.”

“Oh, yeah, she told me all about your plan to get revenge on me or whatever. But hey, I guess it worked out okay, right?” Tony grins.

Gob still looks anxious. “Well, sort of. I mean, in some sense, yeah, it worked out pretty great…” He smiles that crooked smile, looking uncharacteristically shy, and Tony’s stomach flutters— “But in another sense, not so much.”

“What do you mean?”

Gob holds out his phone, which has on it what looks like a ransom note. Tony reads it, the color draining from his face. “Shit,” he says.

“Yeah,” Gob says.

“Are the cameras still here?”

“No, John Beard took them when they finished shooting _Entrap a Local Predator_.”

“You think John Beard is blackmailing you?”

“Probably not—I mean, maybe?”

Tony rereads the note, trying to think of any way they could figure out who sent this, or come up with five hundred thousand dollars.

“Argyle said he would help us.”

Tony’s head snaps up. “Argyle Austero? You went to the _gay mafia?_ ”

“Well, yeah, they were they only ones I could think of after my nephew said he couldn’t trace the email.”

“You told your _nephew?_ ”

“Only about the email! Not about us!” Gob spreads his arms wide, a pleading expression on his face. “Besides, he’s a good kid. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t be an asshole about it.”

Tony nods. “Okay.” He stares into the middle distance, thinking. “I think we should see what Argyle comes up with.”

Gob nods quickly. “Same. I’m glad you’re not upset I went to him.”

Tony shakes his head. “Nah, you did what you had to do. I’m glad you did.”

Gob’s face breaks into that dopey grin. He does that every time Tony praises him, and honestly? Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. He steps forward and slides his arms around Gob’s waist, then down around his hips, then lower. He raises himself onto the balls of his feet so that his mouth is next to Gob’s ear. “I hope all this blackmail hasn’t put you out of the mood,” he whispers. Hey, no point in worrying about it now if they can’t do anything, right?

“Oh, god, no,” Gob says, pressing his body against Tony’s. “You wanna go upstairs?”

“Couch is closer,” Tony mumbles with his lips against Gob’s collarbone.

“Same.”

***

Not long after that, Gob and Tony are lying next to each other in Gob’s bed, playing with their phones. Yeah, they’d started downstairs. But it’s kind of hard to give someone head when they’re sitting on a couch and you’re over six feet tall.

But hey, there are other reasons to like being tall. Chicks love it. And it even seems like dudes might like it too. Well, at least _one_ dude. He glances at Tony, who’s playing that game where you try to get three candy beans in a row.

And maybe he’s been staring for a while, because his phone screen goes to sleep and Tony says, “I know what you’re thinking,” without looking up from his game.

_Impressive,_ Gob thinks, because even Gob doesn’t know what he’d just been thinking. It had been about Tony. Probably. Maybe it was about how Tony looks really cute, with his hair all messed up from where Gob had his hands in it. Okay, no, that’s definitely not what he’d been thinking, because that would be _really gay._

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and for the millionth time, no one calls them candy beans but you.” Tony glances up at him and smirks.

Gob rolls his eyes. “ _Everyone_ in my family calls them that. They’re beans, and they’re made of candy. They’re not made of _jelly,_ that’s just stupid.”

Tony laughs softly and puts down his phone. “So I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Gob doesn’t answer, just looks at Tony. He feels a slight panic bubbling in his chest. He doesn’t like when people ask him questions. It’s never good. Either he doesn’t know the answer, or _worse,_ he _does_ know the answer, and it’s not what anyone wants to hear. Tony looks a little nervous too, which just makes Gob more anxious.

“So I know we got… distracted earlier, but I just want to make sure I’ve got this right. You _didn’t_ take a forget-me-now after Cinco?”

Gob shakes his head. “I didn’t even say that I had. I just said I was going to, but then I gave my last one to Michael… You’re the one who said you didn’t remember the fourth even happening.”

Tony’s examining his nails. Even though he isn’t keeping up the gay magician act, he still wears nail polish. Black nail polish, now. “I only said that because I thought you had taken one.”

“That makes sense.”

Tony looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. They sit there in silence for a few moments until Tony finally says, “I want to say something kind of… awkward. That okay?”

“Hey, guy, you ever met me? That’s like my specialty.”

Tony smiles. “Good point. So here’s the thing. On Cinco, which we both remember, we—we did _that,_ and then later we said just hands, and then that turned into just hands and mouths… Which I’m _very_ happy with, by the way, very um—anyway…” Are Tony’s cheeks a little pink? Gob starts to feel those bees in his stomach again.

“Anyway,” Tony says again, “is it weird? That we started out with _that…_ And then we went back to like, just hands?”

Gob really isn’t sure what Tony is getting at. “Well, I mean the whole situation in general is weird, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Tony says quickly.

Gob laughs. “You know, it _kind of_ sounds like you’re suggesting—” Gob stops laughing as he realizes what Tony is saying. “Ohhhhh _,_ that _is_ what you’re suggesting.” He feels… he’s not sure how he feels. But it’s definitely not hungry _or_ envy.

“Yeah, I just mean, we’ve already done it. We both remember that we’ve done it. Is there really a reason to make it off-limits _now?_ ”

Tony sounds pretty nonchalant, but Gob can tell that he’s nervous. Which is actually a pretty startling realization. Not that Tony is nervous, because hey, anyone would be. What’s shocking is that Gob can _tell._ There’s only one other person whose idiosyncrasies Gob is so aware of, and that’s Michael. And almost all of Michael’s idiosyncrasies just mean that he disapproves of what’s happening. Michael pretty much always disapproves of everything that’s happening. So it doesn’t really mean much that Gob is aware of that.

Gob tries not to think too hard about what Tony is asking. Thinking never leads anywhere good, so he just goes with his gut instinct. “I’m game,” he says.

Tony raises his head to look at Gob, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah?”

“I mean, the way I see it, the only reason not to do it is if we didn’t _like_ it. And I definitely liked it.” Gob grins. “Not in a gay way,” he quickly amends.

Tony gives him a strange look. “Hey, you know I’m not one to overanalyze or whatever,” he says, waving his hands vaguely. “But is there a _not_ gay way to like getting fucked by a dude?”

Gob springs automatically into his confrontation mode. His boyfight mode. He leans back from Tony a bit. “You think you’re less gay than me because you _topped?_ ”

At first Tony looks like he’s going to say no, of _course_ he didn’t mean that. But then he says, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Get out.”

“ _What?_ ”

“If you’re going to call me gay, I don’t want you in my bed.”

To his credit, Tony actually looks apologetic. “Okay, I’ll use the word bisexual. Not gay. Sorry to erase your identity, or whatever.”

“I’m _straight!_ ”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, you’re as straight as I am gay.” He furrows his brow. “Bad example. Whatever, I’m leaving.” He gets out of bed and pulls on his pants.

“So you _admit_ that you’re gay!”

“Fuck you, Gob,” he says, walking out the door and down the stairs

“Thanks! I’d _like that!_ ” Gob yells after him. …Wait. He’s not sure that’s the point he wants to make. Well, whatever.

After Gob hears the front door slam, he’s not entirely sure what just happened. What he is sure of is that he wishes Tony was still there. And that he’s being blackmailed. Yeah, that’s the important thing. Can’t forget about that.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael is once again sitting at the “conference room” table, but he can’t focus on work. He’s just gotten back from visiting Buster in prison. Again.

He doesn’t even understand why Buster _did_ it. Apparently right after confessing, he’d said, “But doesn’t she remind you of mom?” That doesn’t really make the situation any clearer _or_ make Michael feel any better. Is he going to kill their mother next? Well, that would actually be… less surprising. And possibly more welcome.

Buster had told him all about how Lucille Two intentionally kept him from their mother’s trial. But honestly, what were the chances that that had made a difference? Not even a crab shack maritime judge was going to believe that a bunch of gays had stolen the ship, and that their mother let them because she didn’t want to “trample on their rights.” The notion was utterly absurd.

Besides, their mother had _barely_ been in prison. That place was only a prison if you squinted. And no one was going to believe that an _eel_ had swum by Buster’s ankle. Did eels even live in Newport Bay?

Well, technically the ship _had_ been taken out to sea by a group of gay strippers. But only because their mother had told them to do it.

And speaking of gay strippers… “Hello, Michael. Fancy seeing you here,” Gob says, walking into the conference room.

“I _work_ here, Gob, unlike you.” He looks up. “Hey, didn’t you used to be a Hot Cop?”

Gob shrugs, looking distractedly around the room. “Yeah, what’s your point?”

“No point,” Michael says, looking back down at the papers in front of him.

Gob walks up to the conference table and puts both hands on it, leaning towards Michael. “I have a hypothetical for you, Mikey.”

“All right,” Michael says, looking up. He knows that Gob’s hypotheticals are rarely actually hypothetical, but that’s all the more reason to listen.

“Well, hypothetically, if you’d been filmed having sex with someone by _Entrap a Local Predator_ cameras, and then you got a blackmail note asking for money or else they were going to publicize the video… And also, hypothetically if the person you were having sex with was a man, but you weren’t gay and didn’t want everyone to get the wrong idea… What would you do?”

Michael can’t do anything but sit there and blink a few times. Of all the things he’d been expecting to hear… “Gob, is _John Beard_ blackmailing you?”

Gob looks at him as if he’s an idiot. “Come on, Michael. Why would John Beard blackmail me? …I mean, why would John Beard blackmail this hypothetical person?”

“Because he has access to the tapes. And last time I saw him, he was sleeping on a pile of old gym clothes in the basement of the news station.”

Gob frowns. “And I _did_ fuck his ex-wife.”

“No you didn’t.”

Gob glares at him. “For your information, _Michael,_ I did, and even if I _didn’t_ , John Beard doesn’t know that. Wouldn’t know that. Whatever.”

Michael shakes his head. “Regardless, Gob. The absolute _last_ thing we need right now is another scandal.”

Gob crosses his arms. “Yeah, that’s what mom said. She said ‘no scandals.’ But you know, she said that _after_ we were filmed having sex. But it was _before_ the blackmail note, so does it count?” He looks thoughtful. It’s a weird look on him.

Michael raises his eyebrows. “I thought you said this was all hypothetical.”

“It is,” Gob says quickly. “Hypothetically, we were filmed—they were filmed—before mom said no scandals. And hypothetically, I—he—got a blackmail note _after_ mom said no scandals.” He pauses, looking awkward. “…So anyway, what would you do?”

“Hypothetically,” Michael says, giving Gob a significant look, “how much is this blackmailer asking for?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars.”

Michael stands up too fast, almost knocking his chair over. “Are you _serious?_ ”

“Am I serious about hypothetically needing five hundred ‘k’ dollars? Yeah, I am,” Gob says haughtily.

“Gob, I cannot _believe_ this,” Michael says, pinching the bridge of his nose. On second thought… “No, I can. I can believe it.”

“ _Michael,_ ” Gob says impatiently. “What would you _do?_ ”

“You know what, Gob? Unless there was something really, _really_ weird on that tape, I’d just let John Beard release it. We don’t have five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Why are you so convinced it’s John Beard?”

“That’s not the point. The point is that we _don’t have five hundred thousand dollars._ ”

Gob clenches his jaw. “All right, Michael. I get it. You’re not interested in hypothetically helping your own brother and co-president.” He starts walking towards the door, but turns around. “Actually, I have another hypothetical for you.”

Michael is getting is a headache. Could this day get any worse? Apparently, yes. “All right Gob, what is it?”

“If you were in love with a man, but then he called you gay so you told him to leave and now you miss him, what would you do?”

Michael just sighs.

***

Argyle is practicing his grave tap-dancing when the two women walk into his trailer. One of them is Lindsay Bluth. Well, he knows she’s technically still Lindsay Fünke, but he tries to think about Tobias Fünke as little as possible. That strange little man is always trying to get a Tastemaker invitation. To the point where it’s suspicious. To the point where he might be some kind of a mole. To the point where Argyle is starting to doubt his _perfect_ gaydar and thinks maybe Tobias _isn’t even gay._ …Well. _Almost_ perfect gaydar. He’d thought Gob Bluth was straight, hadn’t he? And he’d certainly been wrong about _that._

The other woman is… well, first of all she’s wearing a terrible disguise. But he’s pretty sure she’s Sally Sitwell.

“Hello, ladies, what can I do for you today?” He smiles warmly as Sally—yes, it’s her—takes off her hat and oversized sunglasses. “Ms. Sitwell, I’m not sure why you felt a disguise was necessary, but next time I think just wearing a different wig would be more effective.”

Sally gapes at him.

He waves his hand dismissively as he sits down in his chair. “Oh, please, you think I can’t spot a hairpiece from half a mile away? I know you’re as bald as that father of yours.”

Lindsay is eying Sally curiously. “I think it looks pretty good, honestly.”

“Well, thanks… Lindsay…” She trails off, apparently at a loss for words.

Argyle smiles at them for another moment, before clapping his hands. “All right! So you’re here to talk about—was it the conversion therapy stuff or the blackmail stuff? I can’t keep all you Bluths straight, you’re always having some problem or another.”

Lindsay frowns. “Blackmail? Who came to you about blackmail?”

“Ah, that’s right, you were the one who came about conversion therapy. It was your brother who came about the blackmail.”

“Which… which brother?”

“The tall, stupid one who keeps insisting he’s straight. Seems like John Beard got his hands on a tape of him and—” He looks over to Sally. “ _Your_ fiancé, actually.”

“Doing what?” Sally asks.

“Well, each other, obviously.”

“That _idiot,_ ” Sally hisses.

“Hold on,” Lindsay interjects. “Gob is being blackmailed by _John Beard?_ ”

“Well, we’re not actually sure yet. We’re trying to figure that out. But he is the most obvious candidate.”

“Right. Um…” Sally turns to look at Lindsay, and the two women stare at each other for a moment, looking very lost.

Suddenly, Argyle stands up. “But none of that is any of your concern! We came here to talk about conversion therapy.”

“Right,” Lindsay says seriously. “And how to stop it.”

“Well,” Argyle says, chuckling, “it’s already illegal for minors in the state of California. And there’s not really much you can do about conversion therapy for adults, I mean it’s a free country and they can do what they want. All _we_ can really do is raise awareness of how abhorrent and ineffective it is, and we’ve been doing that for years. Not to mention other groups who are doing the same thing.”

“Then why do you need us?” Lindsay asks.

“I don’t.” He’s giving both Lindsay and Sally his friendliest, most condescending smile.

“Then why am I _here?_ ” Sally says impatiently.

“Well,” Argyle says, rounding the table. “It turns out I was wrong before. You’re not here about conversion therapy. You _are_ here about blackmail.”

The women exchange a confused glance.

“Let me put it plainly.” He crosses his arms and leans back against his desk. “I was a major benefactor of my dear late sister’s congressional campaign, which then became _your_ congressional campaign. And a lot of that funding came from the Tastemakers, which, well, isn’t entirely _legal._ So,” he says, starting to pace around the room, “I figure that unless you want word about that getting out, it’s time for me to get a return on my investment. I want you to be the gay mafia’s agent in the government.” He looks Sally directly in the eyes.

Sally’s mouth is hanging open. “You can’t—I cannot _believe_ —you’re not serious.”

“I’m _very_ serious, Ms. Sitwell.” Argyle raises his eyebrows. “But I’ll give you some time to think about it. You’ll be getting a visit from my people within three to five business days. Please have your answer ready by then.” He sits back down at his desk and starts reading through the latest report on the (other) blackmail case.

After a minute, he looks up. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, but since you are… If either of you is interested, we’ve started an initiative to get more lesbians in the Tastemakers. And I know we’re called the gay mafia, but bisexual and trans women are welcome too. We’re very inclusive.” He smiles winningly. “We seem to mostly only attract cisgender gay men. It’s quite the sausage fest, if I’m being honest… We _did_ try to recruit Lieutenant Toddler, but she’s a ‘good cop’ who ‘doesn’t involve herself with illegal organizations.’ Well, it’s her loss regardless.”

“Um,” Lindsay says. “What?”

“We’re not lesbians,” Sally says.

Argyle raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. You’re both in relationships with gay men, so I just assumed. Well, actually,” he says, looking at Lindsay, “I’m not so sure about _yours,_ but I think it’s safe to say he’s not doing much for you either way.”

Argyle looks between the two women. Lindsay is staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed, caught totally off guard. Sally is clenching her fists and narrowing her eyes, clearly furious.

“Again, give some thought to both my offers.” He motions to his bodyguards. “You’re dismissed.” The bodyguards lead the women out of the trailer.

***

Sally is _not_ in a good mood after her meeting with Lindsay and Argyle, and her mood gets even worse when she walks into her living room.

Tony is _still_ sitting on the couch, upside-down, his legs over the back and his head dangling near the floor. He’s been doing this for the entire past week, apparently to “build up tolerance for an illusion.” When Sally had asked why he couldn’t just make it _look_ like he was upside-down (since it’s an illusion and all), he’d glared at her and mumbled something about the Magician’s Alliance.

“Tony!” she yells.

“What?” He tilts his head back farther to look at her, not bothering to move from his position. And he has the nerve to look annoyed with _her._

“I cannot _believe_ that you and Gob would let yourselves get caught on tape. How many times did I tell you to be careful? And not only _that,_ but now _I’m_ being blackmailed too, and well, at least _you_ have the fucking Tastemakers helping you with John Beard. What am I supposed to do, go to _John Beard_ and ask him to stop the gay mafia from blackmailing me?”

“So it is John Beard?” he asks, finally struggling to sit upright.

“I have no fucking clue Tony, but that’s not really the point, is it?”

“So what is the, uh, what _is_ the point? I think I missed some of—”

Sally gives an exasperated sigh. “Well, I think the _main_ point is that Argyle Austero is blackmailing me into being his government mole because so much of my campaign money apparently came from the gay mafia.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty important point.”

“ _But,_ ” she says, staring him right in the eyes, “my _other_ point is that you lied to me about your relationship with Gob, because someone—John Beard or whoever, it doesn’t matter—is blackmailing Gob with a video of him fucking you.”

Tony gets up off the couch and puts his hands up. “Okay, Sally, cool out, because you have a few details wrong. First of all, I _didn’t_ lie to you, because that video was from before we were engaged, when I was still pretending to be gay. And I was pretending not to remember that it happened, so obviously I wasn’t going to bring it up. Second of all, the video is _not_ of Gob fucking me _,_ it was the other way around, so you can just write that down.”

Sally blinks slowly and raises her eyebrows as high as they can go without falling off, which isn’t much, but she thinks Tony gets the idea that she doesn’t like what he just said.

“Also, me and Gob broke up.”

Sally presses her mouth into a thin line. “You and Gob can’t break up because _you were never dating._ ”

At that, Tony actually looks a little more hurt than he does angry or annoyed, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting back a sarcastic comment. “What’s the matter, Sitwell, you jealous or something?”

She ignores that and sighs. “And _then,_ if you can believe this, Argyle implied that Lindsay and I were a lesbian couple.”

“Huh.” Tony thinks for a little bit. “That sounds pretty hot.”

Sally makes a noise of frustration, not quite a scream, and sits down heavily on the couch. Once she feels a little calmer, she looks up at the man standing in front of her. “What are we doing, Tony?”

“Well, we’re obviously having a fight, but I’m not totally sure… what it’s about…”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Tony sits down on the couch too, facing Sally. “Are you mad at me?”

Sally leans back, thinking. “You know, I’m actually not,” she says with some surprise.

“Cool.” Tony nods.

Apparently Tony considers that the end of the conversation, but Sally doesn’t. “Yeah, it’s weird, like you fucked someone else and I don’t even _care._ If anything, I’m… happy for you. Which is…weird.” She frowns. 

“Wow, Sitwell,” Tony says, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Are you having an _emotion?_ ”

“Shut up,” Sally grumbles. But Tony might be right, because then she says, “You said you and Gob broke up. Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

Tony looks taken aback. “Not really, but… wow, thanks for the offer.”

But Sally’s mind is somewhere else. A look of horror creeps onto her face as she lowers her eyes to Tony’s. “Tony,” she whispers. “Are we… are we _friends?_ ”

Tony frowns in thought. “Yeah, yeah I think I feel some sort of… friendship towards you, or something.” He turns his head towards her. “Honestly it’s kind of how I feel about Gob. Except I don’t really want to fuck you. Is that weird?”

Sally shrugs.

“Except actually, I kind of _do_ want to fuck you, because Gob dumped me and I think I’m sad.” He crosses his arms. “Sal, I know you’re my fiancee, and apparently now you’re also my friend, but do you think you could be my rebound fuck too?”

Is he serious? Sally lights up a cigarette, shaking her head. “Absolutely not, Tony.” She takes a drag. “No, I think I’m done sleeping with you.”

Tony shrugs. “Fair enough.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth.

“So,” Sally says. “ _Do_ you want to talk about what happened with Gob?”

“Yeah, that’s the kind of thing friends do, right?” When Sally nods, he keeps going. “It’s just—ok, so he got mad at me because I said he was gay. I even said maybe he’s bisexual, I don’t know!” Tony is gesturing wildly. “But I told him there’s nothing _straight_ about liking to get fucked by a dude, and he told me to _leave._ He was all like, ‘You think you’re less gay than me because you topped?’ And I was like, yeah, obviously!”

Sally is quiet for a moment. She’s thinking about her life choices again. She’s taking a draw on her cigarette. She’s wondering how she ever came to start actually _caring_ about someone with this little self-awareness. Finally, she says, “I know what the problem is.”

“Yeah?” Tony looks eager.

Sally turns and looks Tony directly in the eyes, her face deadly serious. “The problem is that _you’re both idiots._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“Gay sex isn’t straight no matter what side of the dick you’re on, dumbass.”

Tony—god, where does she find these people—looks like he finds this a revelatory new concept.

“You liked fucking him, you’re upset that he kicked you out, you came up with a convoluted plan as an excuse to fool around with him, and I don’t believe for a _minute_ that you were ‘just’ doing hand stuff.” She gives Tony a significant look.

Tony actually has the grace to look sheepish.

“It’s fine, I obviously don’t care.” She takes another drag. “All I’m saying is, you’re just a _little_ bit insufferable, and if Gob likes you anyway, you need to go get him back.”

Tony nods, looking at the ground.

“Of course, he’s even more oblivious than you are. The fact that he thinks is straight is totally incomprehensible. If you want things to work with him, you’re going to have to get that idea out of his head.”

Tony nods slowly. “Maybe the gay mafia—”

“ _No,_ ” Sally says sharply. “Everyone around here needs to stop thinking that the gay mafia is the solution to their problems. I don’t know how that even became a thing. You, Gob, Lindsay, even _me_ —seriously, they’re nothing but trouble. I mean, they’re a _mafia,_ for fuck’s sake.”

“All right, all right,” Tony mutters.

“You know what? Since you and I are friends, for some reason, I’ll ask Lindsay if she has any advice about her brother and how she thinks he’s holding up.” Sally pushes up off the couch and starts heading upstairs to take a shower.

“I thought you hated Lindsay?”

Sally pauses. “I might be warming up to her a little,” she says, continuing up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said I would update this regularly, I think I just meant frequently, because there is nothing regular about this update schedule. It's more like "whenever I remember and feel like it." But at least it is frequent!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named the closet guys because it was easier that way. But which is which? :)

“Do you think I should make some hot ham water to take Buster in prison?” Lindsay asks Gob as she’s checking all the cupboards in the model home. “Gob?”

Gob is lying sprawled on the couch, where he’s been for the past two days, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer.

“Gob? What do you think?”

He cranes his neck a little so that he’s vaguely looking in Lindsay’s direction. “I think the food they have in prison is even more disgusting, so you don’t need to go through the trouble.”

Lindsay frowns. “Are you ever going to get up off that couch?”

“No.”

She walks into the living room and stands over her brother, hands on her hips. “Why not?”

“My life is over.”

Lindsay rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but feel a _little_ concerned. She sits on the arm of the couch. “Why is your life over?”

Gob scoffs. “You’d never understand.”

Lindsay raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“So Tony says I’m _not straight,_ just because I liked having sex with him, and it’s like… it’s just like… what? I mean, what? Should I—should I? Should _he?_ Who is he to—I mean, come on. What? _What?_ ” Gob stops speaking, but his mouth is still working and his hands are still making imploring gestures.

Lindsay stares at her brother. Why does every man she knows keep insisting to her that he’s straight? Why is this such a thing in her life? Maybe she _should_ start spending more time with the Tastemakers. At least that would never happen with _them._ Yeah, she feels bad for Gob, sort of, but she just doesn’t have the patience for this. She sighs and stands up. “You’re right, Gob. I don’t understand.”

After she gets a pot on the stove for her hot ham water, she says, “Maybe you should talk to your closet guys about this. They might be able to help more than I can.”

“I’d have to get off the couch for that.”

“Hmm.” True. Now that’s a struggle Lindsay _does_ understand.

“Guess I might as well give it a shot…” Gob slowly peels himself off the couch. “See you later. Don’t save me any hot ham water.”

“Bye, Gob.”

When the hot ham water is almost done, Lindsay’s phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey Lindsay, it’s Sally.”

“Hey, Sally, what’s up?” Lindsay smiles. She’s surprised to notice that she’s actually _happy_ to talk to Sally. After over thirty years of hating each other’s guts… well, maybe Gob’s pathetic love life indirectly brought them together as friends.

“What’s up is that your brother is a fucking idiot.”

“Which one?”

“Gob.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.” Lindsay turns off the stove—she remembers to do that now. “Not really news though, so why does that warrant a call?”

“You should—hold on.” She hears Sally say something to someone else, then shut a door. “You should have seen how upset Tony was the other day.”

“You know, Gob was literally _just_ telling me he’d had a fight with Tony.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He told me that Tony said he wasn’t straight, because they’d had sex, and apparently that hadn’t been obvious to him.”

“Yeah, and then he broke up with Tony.”

“ _What?_ He told me his life was over! I didn’t even know they were dating!”

“I don’t really think they were, but, well, you know them.”

“They’re idiots.”

“Right.”

“Well, Gob seemed really upset too. I think he really _likes_ Tony.”

“Yeah, and yet he still thinks he’s straight.”

Lindsay sighs. “You know, almost every man I know is constantly trying to tell me how straight they are? Tobias, Marky, Gob…”

“Almost makes you want to just hang out with the Tastemakers, huh?”

“Yes, that is _exactly_ what I was thinking!”

Sally laughs. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you could try to convince Gob that he should get back together with Tony.”

“Well, I’ll try,” Lindsay sighs, “but he’s _really_ hard-headed.”

“Believe me, I understand. But you know, for some reason I actually _care_ about Tony’s happiness. Not sure _why…_ But anyway, it’s important to me.”

“Yeah, Gob’s happiness is important to me too. For some reason.”

“God, men are fucking dumb,” Sally says.

“Tell me about it,” Lindsay laughs.

***

The closet guys really are great listeners. They’re probably Gob’s best friends. Well, other than Tony. Or rather, other than Tony previous to a few days ago. And also, isn’t Tony supposed to _not_ be his friend? He’s sort of forgotten about that part.

“So let me get this straight,” Carl is saying.

“Ha!” Gob interrupts. “Get it straight… get it… because I’m straight… haha…”

Carl raises his eyebrows. “Mr. Bluth, do you remember why you bought this company?”

“Of course,” Gob scoffs. “It was because I thought it was a gay conversion company that could make me forget my feelings for Tony Wonder.”

“Right.” Carl nods. “So what does that tell us?”

Gob gives him a puzzled look.

Apparently tired of beating around the bush, Cam chimes in, “It tells us you’re not straight, Mr. Bluth.”

Gob rolls his eyes. “Like I always say, the cute ones are _so_ dumb.”

Cliff, forever the fucking diplomat, steps forward. “Mr. Bluth, we’re not trying to invalidate your identity. But Cam’s right, you _did_ come here looking for a sexuality conversion. And I don’t think you’d do that if you thought you were straight.”

Gob glares at him. “I was mistaken.”

Carl sighs. “Look, you’re upset about what you said to Tony, right?”

Gob nods.

“And why is that?”

Gob’s face falls, and he feels utterly pathetic, but he’s never been good at hiding his emotions. “Because I _miss_ him!”

“What do you miss about him?” Cliff asks.

Gob smiles sadly despite himself. “Everything. I love everything about him, and now it’s all _gone._ ” He grimaces. “I miss his stupid spiky hair, and his stupid pink goatee… How he’s the only person who never tells me how dumb I am—other than you guys, of course, but you’re my employees so I’m not sure it counts—and he always thinks I have good ideas. I miss how he’s so _short_ , he has to stand on his toes to kiss me—“

Cam and Cliff exchange a look, but Gob’s not paying attention to them, he’s on a roll.

“I miss how we’re always so _same_ , we’re always on the same page, I’ve never had that with anyone else. We _literally_ finish each other’s sandwiches. I miss his smile, the way he looks at me.” Gob feels his chest ache, but he keeps going. “I miss his _hands,_ God, and his _mouth,_ I mean even just _thinking_ about it makes me—”

He looks up and notices that there are three closet guys all staring at him with raised eyebrows, not saying anything, but only because they don’t need to.

“Fuck,” Gob says. He rubs at his eyes. “I’m super fucking gay, aren’t I?”

Carl nods solemnly and steps forward, patting Gob on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, buddy.” Cam and Cliff come and hug him.

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” Gob says. “I need to get him back.”

When he’s back at the model house, he sees Lindsay separating servings of hot ham water into Tupperware containers and labeling them. He suppresses a gag.

“Lindsay!” he all but yells. “You’re a girl, right?”

Lindsay gives him a confused and slightly offended look, but Gob bulldozes right over it. “Lindsay, I’ve realized something. I’m gay.”

“Well, that was a freebie,” Lindsay mumbles to herself.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Anyway, I’m proud of you for—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gob says, waving his hand at her. “Save it. It’s just, everything makes so much _sense_ now. I mean, I’ve never wanted to be with a woman for more than like, a week… Every time I’ve found myself _accidentally_ making a commitment, I’ve freaked out and sabotaged it. And the only person I’ve _ever_ had feelings for is Tony, who’s obviously a man—believe me, he’s definitely—”

“Wow, Gob,” Lindsay interrupts loudly. “Where did you go, therapy?”  
“Nah, just the closet guys.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Anyway, like I said, you’re a girl, so you’re probably into like, matchmaking and stuff, right? Help me get back together with Tony.” He looks at her imploringly.

“All girls are into matchmaking? Is that even… a thing?” She looks thoughtful for a second. “But okay. I mean, literally just ten minutes ago, Sally asked me to do the same thing.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, apparently Tony’s really upset. He wants to be with you.”

“Okay, that’s great news!” Gob grins, feeling hope swell up inside him. “Now all we need is a _plan._ ”

Lindsay looks confused. “Why do you need a plan? He wants to be with you, you want to be with him… Just go over there and like, kiss him or whatever. Give him some magic flowers. I don’t know, whatever it is gay magicians do.”

Gob makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes. Sometimes he thinks he’s the only person in this family who’s not totally boring. “No, _Lindsay,_ that’s too _simple._ I can’t just go over there and have everything go back to normal. I need to make a grand gesture. I need to…” Gob spreads his arms in what he hopes is a dramatic pose. “…put on a show.”

“Oh God,” Lindsay says. “No, Gob, just go tell him—”

“Lindsay.” He gives her a haughty look. “Who’s the gay one here? You? No. _Me._ So who knows the appropriate action in this situation? _You?_ ” Gob laughs. “No, _me,_ Lindsay. _Me._ ”

Lindsay sighs. “Do you want any—”

“ _Yes,_ ” Gob says, squeezing Lindsay as tightly as he can. “Buster’s in prison, so I would _love_ for you to be my assistant.”

He hears Lindsay say something else, but he’s too caught up in hugging her and doesn’t quite catch it. He assumes it’s an expression of gratitude at being included in what will undoubtedly be the most spectacular show he’s ever done.

***

Tony doesn’t think of himself as a wallower, but, well, when you break up with someone you weren’t even dating, and it’s almost a week later, and you’ve barely moved from your position upside-down on the couch…

Maybe there’s too much blood rushing to his head.

He hears Sally come in the door. Even though they’re not really dating anymore, she still has a key to his apartment. He doesn’t bother moving.

“Hey, Tony!” she calls out with obviously fake enthusiasm. Or if it’s not fake, she’s at least trying way too hard.

Tony just groans.

Sally walks into the living room. “Sit up,” she snaps. “You’re going to give yourself brain damage.”

Tony tries to roll his eyes, but it’s actually somewhat difficult after sitting in this position for so long. So reluctantly, he gets up into a normal sitting position. And _then_ he rolls his eyes.

“Anyway,” Sally says, the fake smile back on her face. “I have something you might deem worth getting off the couch for.”

“I doubt it,” Tony mumbles.

Sally’s smile sharpens. “You’re going to get off the couch, and you’re going to come with me, because if you don’t, I’m going to stop bringing you food, and you’re either going to have to go to the grocery store yourself, or starve. Or figure out how to order groceries online.”

Tony groans again.

“Stop being such a baby, this is going to be fun.” She glares at him.

“Great, I’m having a blast already.”

While Sally drives him, he tries playing Candy Crush, but every time he looks at it, he thinks about how Gob calls it the candy bean game. And he sighs loudly.

Every time Tony sighs loudly, Sally shoots him a glare. So even after Tony stops trying to play Candy Crush, he keeps sighing. Sally’s annoyance is making him feel just a _little_ bit better.

Eventually, the car stops and Tony looks up. “Oh, _fuck_ no,” he says. They’re in Sudden Valley. “Sally, what the fuck are we doing _here?_ ”

“Get out of the car,” Sally says, doing so herself.

“No!”

But Sally isn’t listening to him, because just then Gob’s sister Lindsay comes running up. He can’t hear what they’re talking about from inside the car, but Sally is smiling in a non-fake, non-evil way, more than Tony has ever seen her do. It’s honestly _creepy._ He doesn’t think it bodes well for whatever is about to happen.

When Lindsay leaves, Sally comes around to the passenger side of the car and taps on the window. She doesn’t look mad. In fact, she’s still smiling.

Reluctantly, Tony gets out of the car. And then stops short, because he sees that in the middle of the desert, there’s a stage. And on the stage is the closet from his old act. He immediately spins around and tries to get back into the car, but it’s locked. “Sally, I thought you _sold that on Craigslist!_ ” 

“I did, but apparently I sold it to Gob.”

Tony looks up. “Gob is here?”

He _is_ there. In fact, he’s standing in front of the stage holding a megaphone and wearing one of his ridiculous purple and black suits. God, it looks great on him.

“A magician has many secrets!” he booms. What the fuck. “But there was one I… unintentionally ended up keeping from myself, because I didn’t think it was obvious, although apparently everyone else did!”

Well that’s a new spin.

“If my lovely assistant could please come assist me… well, not _too_ lovely, because she’s my sister. Well, actually my aunt. But regardless, she’s also a woman and I’m not into—” Gob lowers the megaphone, but he has a very loud voice. Tony can still hear him. “No, that’s going to ruin the trick, don’t say that yet.” He raises the megaphone back up. “ _Anyway,_ if my assistant, who I’m sure many straight non-related men think is lovely, could please come assist me!”

Lindsay walks up, smiling, with a roll of something. She unrolls it in front of Gob, hiding him from view, and it turns out to be a banner that says “I’M STRAIGHT.” Suddenly there’s a puff of smoke from behind the banner, and Lindsay drops it in obvious mock surprise. Gob is gone.

Tony’s a little bit impressed, actually.

Then Lindsay comes forward. “For this next part, we need an audience member…”

Even though Tony knows he and Sally are the only people there, he still looks around. Wait, where did Sally go? He sighs and steps forward. Lindsay leads him up onto the stage, next to the closet. She opens it, spins it around, shows that it’s empty. Then she gestures into it.

“You want me to get _in_ there? Don’t you think that’s a little bit cruel?”

Lindsay’s smile transforms into that sharp one he sees on Sally all the time. He sighs again and gets into the closet. Appropriate, really.

The door shuts, and he’s alone in the dark. This honestly kind of sucks. Usually it’s the other guy in the mask who does this part. Well, Tony has spent hours stuck in cramped, dark spaces of his own free will. But this is just standing in an empty box. He’s not having a lot of fun.

Suddenly, something behind him is touching his waist, and he nearly jumps a foot into the air. He spins around and tries to back up, but there’s not a lot of room in the closet anymore.

Gob is in there with him.

“Hi, Tony,” he says.

“Hi,” Tony whispers. “Um, what are you doing here?”

“An illusion,” he whispers back, leaning down to kiss Tony. “I want you back.”

“Same.”

“I’m not straight.”

“Same.”

The two men smile at each other in the dark, their arms around each other and their bodies pressed together. Tony pushes up onto the balls of his feet to kiss Gob back enthusiastically. Gob makes a soft noise, so Tony pushes him up against the wall.

“Tony,” Gob says breathlessly, “this closet isn’t attached to—”

And suddenly they’re falling. Falling in love? Maybe, but toppling onto the stage trapped inside a closet? Definitely.

They land hard in a tangle of limbs and cheap plywood from the now-shattered closet. Tony has the wind knocked out of him, but who cares, he’s fallen on top of Gob, so he was going to be at a loss for air anyway, right? He moves to kiss him again, but then realizes that Lindsay and Sally are both standing above them asking if they’re okay.

Tony tries to get up, but he’s still tangled up with Gob and ends up sort of half-falling onto the stage beside him. “We’re fine,” he says unconvincingly.

“We’re _better than fine,_ ” Gob says a lot more convincingly, grinning and fully sitting up.

“Okay, good,” Lindsay says, “because I’m not sure ambulances come all the way out here.”

“See, Tony?” Sally says. “I told you this was worth getting off the couch for.”

“Yeah, you were right, as usual.” He smiles and looks up at her. “But I’m breaking up with you.”

“Tony, we broke up five days ago.”

“But now it’s _official._ ”

Sally is rolling her eyes, but Tony’s not paying attention, because he’s too distracted by Gob’s crooked smile.


	7. Chapter 7

George Michael gets off the elevator on the third floor and walks to his office. Even though he doesn’t need the space for Fakeblock anymore, he’s still renting a couple rooms down there to work on the _original_ Fakeblock. The one he actually has code written for already. The wood block app. Which he needs a new name for, but he can deal with that later. Maybe he _will_ go with BlockBlock.

When he opens the office door, he’s surprised to see that someone’s already in there. “Dad?”

Michael looks up. “Oh, hey, George Michael. I just came down here because, you know, your uncle is using the only actual office for… well, something, and I really just hate working in that conference room with the dentist’s chair.”

“Yeah, totally.” Although their healing relationship is still a little tender, it’s better now than it has been in years. They actually enjoy being in each other’s vicinity again, so George Michael isn’t totally horrified to see him.

And they’re honest. Mostly. Neither has broached the subject of George Michael’s relationship with Maeby, but hey, it turns out they’re first cousins _once removed_ , and apparently that removal makes all the difference. Nothing to worry about. Possibly.

Anyway, since they’re open and honest with each other now, George Michael decides to talk about something that’s been on his mind for a while, but that he’s been afraid to bring up. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner. “So, uh, dad, since we’re speaking of Uncle Gob, did you know he’s being, um…”

“Blackmailed for five hundred thousand dollars? Yeah, I did.”

“Oh.” Well, that’s a little bit unexpected. Sort of a relief, though. At least he hadn’t been keeping a secret that his dad didn’t already know. “Okay, well, I’ve known about it for a while, I meant to mention it earlier you know, but I just didn’t want to add to everything else on your plate, with Buster and the company and everything…”

“No, I gotcha, no need to get overzealous with the whole honesty thing.” He looks up from his work and smiles. It might even be a real smile.

“So you’re not worried about it?”

Michael frowns. “Of course I’m a _little_ worried about it, but honestly? No matter what’s on that tape, it’s going to be completely eclipsed by everything happening with Buster. John Beard really picked the wrong time to try to get blackmail money out of us.”

“So it is John Beard?”

“I’m really not sure, so don’t go telling people that, we don’t need to be sued for slander on top of everything else.”

“Right, gotcha. Makes a lot of sense.” Well, as much sense as anything in this whole situation does.

“Also, I don’t think John Beard should have asked for so much money. I’m not sure your uncle and his boyfriend really care enough to pay _that_ much.”

Michael’s speaking as if George Michael should know who he’s talking about, but apparently George Michael’s more out of the loop than he’d thought. “I thought you just said it wasn’t John—wait, I thought we were talking about—I thought Murphybrown was Tobias’ son?”

Michael glances up, his brows slightly furrowed. “He is. I’m not talking about Murphybrown, I’m talking about Tony Wonder.”

“Tobias is dating Tony Wonder?” Now George Michael is _really_ lost.

“No, no, _Gob_ is dating Tony Wonder.”

George Michael nods, finally at least _sort of_ understanding what’s going on. “Oh right, because that magic trick made him gay. But I thought he did another one to make him straight again?”

“Well you know, George Michael, if I’m being totally honest I think he was always gay. But who has the patience to keep track of what’s going on in your uncle’s life?”

“Well, I guess that’s fair…” Besides, now that he has all the information, George Michael assumes it’s Tony on the tape with Gob, and that had been from Cinco, which was almost two months _before_ Gob had done his weird closet trick. And Gob _had_ taken him to that gay magic show weeks even before _that._ And he _was_ friends with all the Hot Cops. And he _had_ stolen George Michael’s ex-girlfriend… wait.

“Wait,” George Michael says out loud. “That just makes it even _worse_ that he stole my girlfriend.”

Michael looks up, his brow furrowed. “Who?”

“My ex-girlfriend, Ann. The one Gob almost married?”

“I think you’re confused, George Michael. Gob _did_ marry that woman, it was in Vegas on a dare, and there’s no way you could have dated her, she would have been way too old for you.”

“No, dad, I’m talking about like six years ago, when he did that Jesus trick and ended up in the storage locker?”

“That was for a wedding?”

“Yeah, his wedding to Ann.” Why doesn’t anyone _ever remember Ann?_

“…Who?”

“Never mind,” George Michael mumbles. “Can I um… I need to do some work now.”

“Oh sure, sure, absolutely, because this is _your_ space, absolutely, sure, and I _do_ have somewhere to go, of course. It’s right upstairs.” Michael smiles understandingly as he leaves the room. “See you later, kiddo.”

George Michael waves goodbye to his dad and sits down to work, trying to ignore how awkward that exchange was.

When he goes home that night, the lights in his house are already on. “Hello?” he calls, opening the door. He hears muffled cursing coming from the living room.

_Fuck,_ he thinks, taking out his phone to dial 911—would they even come out here if called?—and grabbing a large lamp, just in case.

He hears two men talking quietly, and someone stumbles into the hallway. George Michael feels panic rising in his chest, he lifts the lamp, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not ready to smash it over the intruder’s head. Damn it, if only Maeby were here, she could hit this guy on the head like she did Stan—

But it turns out that it isn’t a masked burglar or an axe murderer. It’s just his Uncle Gob, although he’s not particularly dressed. He’s wearing pants (thank God), but he doesn’t have a shirt or shoes on and his hair is all messed up. He looks just as shocked to see George Michael as George Michael is to see him. He puts his hands on his hips. “George Michael, I would have expected _you_ of all people to know how to _knock._ I thought you were supposed to be the good one.”

“I was?” George Michael says distractedly, but then turns back to the matter at hand. “Uncle Gob, this is… This is my house.”

Gob laughs and looks around him. “Stop fucking with me, boy, this looks exactly like my house. Same furniture, same paint, everything.”

“Well, yeah, we both got everything from Homefill. It’s the same as the model home.”

Gob looks puzzled, like maybe he actually believes him.

“Besides, my key worked in the door, so obviously this is my…” Something occurs to him. “Wait, how did you even get in here anyway?”

“Oh, all the houses in Sudden Valley use the same keys,” Gob says dismissively.

George Michael just stares at him, at a loss for words. _Seriously?_ No wonder no one bothers to lock their doors.

“Yeah, made it real easy to do showings when I was selling them,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, nothing to worry about. Then he pauses, apparently thinking. “You know, maybe that wasn’t the greatest idea in the world, what with all the sex offenders.”

“All the… _what? Sex offenders?_ Uncle Gob, what are you talking about?”

Gob looks up like he’s just remembered George Michael is there. “Hm? Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s got nothing to do with you.” He walks over to the fridge. “Nope, you’re right, this is definitely _not_ my house. Not enough parmesan or mustard in here, not by far.” He looks back at George Michael. “Sorry about that.”

“Actually, Uncle Gob, I wanted to ask you about something if this isn’t a bad time…”

He sits down at the table. “Nah, go ahead.”

“Do you, by any chance, remember how you stole my girlfriend when I was in high school, tricked me into saying I was okay with it, almost married her, and then ended up stuck in a storage locker for three weeks?”

Gob closes his eyes, nodding seriously. “Yes, I remember it well.” Then his eyes snap open. “Well, except for the part about tricking you. That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

George Michael gives him an incredulous look.

“Okay, fine, it does sound like something I would do,” he admits.

George Michael nods. “Well, anyway, I’d mostly gotten over that, I mean she obviously wasn’t the one for… me…” He trails off, thinking.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve forgiven me.” Gob stands up, smiling.

“No, I didn’t forgive you, I forgot—never mind. Anyway, Uncle Gob, I was going to ask you why you specifically went after my girlfriend when you’re gay, but then I realized that I wouldn’t even understand if you were _straight_ , why you would specifically go after… um…” George Michael frowns, trying to think of her name. What the hell was her name? Oh yeah. “Ann.”

Gob totally ignores the question, which George Michael supposes is fair, since he didn’t actually phrase any of it as a question. He leans forward and puts his hand on George Michael’s shoulder. “You bring up a good point. I really need to thank you for dating old Blank, because that misguided adolescent decision indirectly lead to me being in the best relationship of my life.”

“How does that have anything to do with you and Tony—”

Gob, not actually listening to what George Michael is saying, yells, “I guess you’re probably _wondering_ who I’m dating!”

“Did somebody say… _wonder?_ ” All of a sudden, there’s a cloud of smoke and glitter, and a man standing in front of the refrigerator in a similar state of undress to Gob. He breaks his dramatic pose to rub at his arms. “You know, I really wish I’d gone with somewhere a little less cold.”

Gob shrugs.

“Uncle Gob, I already knew you were dating Tony Wonder.”

“ _What?_ ” Gob takes a step backwards. “ _How?_ ”

“My dad told me.”

“ _Michael,_ ” Gob growls.

“I guess he didn’t think it was supposed to be a surprise…” George Michael’s not entirely sure what the protocol is in this situation. Maybe there _isn’t_ a protocol for this particular situation. So he goes with standard polite behavior, walks up to Tony, and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He quickly pulls his hand back. “Wow, you _are_ cold. Do you want a blanket or something…?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Your uncle will keep me warm.” He winks.

George Michael suddenly has an incredibly disturbing thought. “Wait, Uncle Gob, were you just having sex on my _couch?_ ” he asks in horror.

Tony laughs. “Don’t worry, we only got to like second base at _most._ ”

“I don’t—I don’t know what second base is when you’re both guys.” Does he _want_ to know? He doubts it’ll make him less horrified.

Tony frowns at him disapprovingly. “Don’t you think that’s a little homophobic?”

George Michael opens his mouth to say something, but he has no idea what he should say to that. Fortunately, he’s saved by Gob, who says, “Actually I don’t know what gay second base is either. Or, I mean, _normal_ second base.”

“Yeah, neither do I. I was just messing with the kid.” Tony grins at George Michael. “I have _no idea_ what base we were on.”

“Okay, um, that’s cool, and like I said, nice to meet you and all, but maybe you could go home? I have to do some… laundry…” He glances towards the living room, where his couch is. The couch he doesn’t particularly want to sit on right now.

“Sure, sure, kid,” Gob says. “Glad we ran into you!”

“Yeah, I’m not really sure glad is the right…” But Gob and Tony are out the door, and George Michael is alone in his house.

***

It’s four o’clock in the morning, and Gob is annoyingly awake. He shakes Tony’s shoulder. “ _Tony,_ ” he whispers. “ _Wake up._ ”

Tony groans and swats his hand away, but Gob is insistent. He continues to push on Tony’s shoulder and repeat his name. Why does Gob hate sleep so much?

But of course, since they’re same, Tony is just as stubborn as Gob. He sits up, glares at his boyfriend, and walks to one of the other bedrooms, stealing the blanket he has wrapped around his body.

Gob follows him. “Come on, don’t you want to hear the idea I just had?”

“Tell me at ten,” Tony says curtly.

“No, no, listen.” He catches Tony’s shoulder and turns him around, putting his hands on his shoulders. “I know how we can beat the blackmailer.”

Tony sighs. “You mean John Beard?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe. You know what they always say: the best way to fight bad press is to get out in front of it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Who always says that?”

“Well, Michael said it when he couldn’t convince Ron Howard not to make a show about Buster being a murderer.”

Tony stares at him, his expression deadpan yet exhausted.

Gob smiles winningly and wraps Tony in a gentle hug, leaning down to kiss him. Despite himself, Tony feels his heartbeat quicken. Possibly the _most_ annoying thing about Gob is how Tony isn’t able to stay annoyed with him for long. He’d _never_ give in to anyone else this easily, but, well. He has a soft spot for the guy. Maybe a little more than a soft spot.

Tony laughs and pushes him away, smiling. “Okay, tell me your plan.”

Gob grins. “We _release the video ourselves._ We go get it from John Beard, make sure it’s edited and _hot as fuck_ , then we put it online. Maybe we release it as a straight bait. Then John Beard will have _nothing_ on us, because we got out in front of it.”

Tony is thoughtful for a second. He’s not sure how he feels about that plan. “Isn’t that sort of like what Kim K did?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know if it’s _more_ gay or _less_ gay that you don’t know who that is.”

Gob shrugs. “So what do you think? How did it work out for that Kim guy?”

Tony snorts. “I don’t like it.”

Gob’s face falls, as usual incapable of hiding any emotion.

“ _…I love it._ ”

Gob squeezes Tony in a giant hug, even picking him up off the ground a little. “Now aren’t you glad I woke you up to tell you about it?”

“No, you definitely could have told me this at ten. I still would have loved it at ten. Now go back to bed.”

Gob rolls his eyes and gives an _extremely_ exaggerated sigh. “ _Fine._ But only because you’re cute.”

Tony laughs. God, it’s embarrassing how that still gets him. He’d never thought of himself as _cute,_ might even be insulted by the implication coming from anyone else. But from Gob, well, maybe he _likes_ that Gob thinks he’s cute. Not that he’d ever admit that. Even to Gob.

Once he’s gotten Gob back in bed, he falls asleep with his lips pressed to the back of his boyfriend’s neck.

When they wake up for real (not at ten, unfortunately, but eight is _acceptable,_ at least the fucking sun is up), Tony slides his hand down Gob’s chest and kisses his neck. He wants to fuck, like they do most mornings. But Gob is already rolling off the bed and pulling on his pants.

“Where the hell are you going?” Tony grumbles.

“We have to work on our _plan._ ”

Okay, so that’s legit. That might be a good enough reason to skip sex (if there is such a thing). Honestly, he wishes Gob didn’t have all his ideas in the middle of the night, but despite their timing they’re usually _great_ ideas. It’s one of the things he loves about him. He’s the only person Tony knows who’s willing to go along with his wildest schemes, and who even comes up with wilder ones. Gob comes up with the raw ideas, and Tony makes them workable.

God, what was he even _doing_ before he met Gob?

As they sit down to eat breakfast, Tony’s reminded that there is _one_ thing he’ll never understand about Gob. The goddamn mustard and parmesan.

Tony even _brought cereal_ from his _own house,_ and still Gob insists on eating that for almost every meal. But they’ve had the conversation so many times, and it’s stopped making Tony involuntarily gag, so he doesn’t mention it.

“Okay,” Gob is saying, “so do you know how to edit videos?”

“No. Do you?”

Gob shakes his head, mouth full of cheese.

“Do you know anyone who _does?_ ”

Gob looks thoughtful for a second, then swallows his disgusting breakfast. “George Michael probably does, he’s like a computer _genius_.”

“You think your nephew is going to agree to edit your sex tape?”

Gob grimaces. “Probably not. I had to trick him into even pretending to be my boyfriend so I could sabotage your trick.”

Tony laughs. Far from being offended that Gob had tried to ruin him, he admires the initiative. He’s just a _little_ turned on by the absolute blind confidence it takes to do something like that.

“But you know what… I bet _Maeby_ would do it.”

Tony nods thoughtfully. Yeah, that girl would literally do anything if she got something she wanted in return. He thinks she’s their best bet. “We need to have something she wants first.”

“Right. Okay, what do teenage girls want?” Gob snaps his fingers. “I bet she’d want us to buy her alcohol.”

Tony looks at him sideways. “Isn’t she like twenty-four?”

“Is she?” Gob asks, surprised. “Wow, they really do grow up fast.”

“Well, I think we should just ask her. From what you’ve told me, she’ll be able to recognize the value of a good deal.”

Gob nods. “I’ll ask her today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so psyched to post the next chapter because I love Maeby. I hope someone else finds this concept as hilarious as I do lmao


	8. Chapter 8

Maeby hates living in Sudden Valley, and she’s a little disappointed she lost her sweet place at the Spotted Palm. But _damn,_ crashing with George Michael is a hell of a lot better than living wither her dad and his bizarre “family.”

Now the next thing she needs to do is get a job. Maybe get her GED. George Michael could help her study, but if she could find a way to make money _without_ having to take any tests, that would be ideal. Then she could get her own place. One that’s _not_ in Sudden Valley.

And it’s not just Sudden Valley that she wants to get away from. Like, yeah she loves George Michael (when she wants to), and they’ve been messing around. But she doesn’t want to _cohabitate_ with him. That would be getting too serious. Like they were a family.

Even though they already are family. But whatever.

The doorbell rings, and she considers not answering it. It’s probably just another fucking sex offender looking for George Michael. She wouldn’t admit this to _anyone_ , but even though she looks a little older than they usually go for, they creep her out. The way they look at her, at George Michael. The way they drive around the block in their ice cream trucks even though there aren’t any kids around. She’s not even sure George Michael realizes he’s living in a neighborhood surrounded by perverts.

But whoever’s there won’t stop ringing the damn doorbell. So Maeby gets up to answer it, and maybe make a cutting remark that’ll make them never want to ring it again.

She puts on her best bitch face and swings the door open angrily. But when she sees who it is, she smiles. “Oh hey, Uncle Gob!”

“Hey, Maebs. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure. George Michael is at work if you’re looking for him.”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

It’s a little embarrassing how warm that makes her feel inside. She actually _likes_ Gob. She thinks he’s probably the one most like her in their whole family, only… well, he’s pretty dumb, if she’s honest. He’d probably be a lot more successful in his next scheme if he brought her on board. Now _there’s_ a thought…

“All right, Maeby, I know you don’t like beating around the bush, so I’ll just get to it. I just thought of my next scheme, and I want to bring you on board.”

Maeby puts on her best professional, confident smile. “What a coincidence. I was _just_ thinking that you could benefit from my help. I’ll need compensation, of course,” she says, looking Gob in the eyes.

Gob nods. “Yeah, I came prepared for that especially since what I want you to do might be a little… awkward-y.”

Maeby crosses her arms. “I pimped out my own mother.”

Gob actually looks surprised. Guess he didn’t know about that one. “Well that’s great news, you’ll be perfect.”

“So is this scheme going to be a money-maker?”

“Hopefully.”

“I want sixty percent.”

“ _What?_ That’s more than half! It was _my_ idea, and when Tony and I split the rest that’s only like fifteen percent each!”

“I think it’s twenty-five percent each. Anyway, you and Tony count as one unit.”

Gob scoffs. “Oh, _come on,_ it’s not like we share a bank account. We’ve been dating for like three weeks.”

“Do you even _have_ a bank account?”

“I… don’t think so? But Tony might?”

Maeby nods sagely. “Then you’re essentially sharing a bank account.”

Gob frowns, looking like he’s thinking that one over.

“Besides, can you do this without me? I’m guessing you can’t, or you wouldn’t have asked me.”

Gob gets that look on his face like he’s hiding something. God, sometimes he’s so good at lying (it’s a family trait), but sometimes he’s just… not. “Well, could we do it without _you, specifically?_ Sure. Could we do it without someone who knows how to edit movies? I mean, _technically,_ no.”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Maeby laughs. “You need someone who edits movies?”

Gob nods.

“You do realize I worked in the entertainment industry for years, right? I started out as a script editor and worked my way up to producer. You want someone who can help you make a movie and isn’t squeamish about doing something awkward? I’m your woman, Uncle Gob. And I want my sixty percent.”

Gob still doesn’t look totally convinced. “Well I really meant someone who can use movie editing software.”

Maeby shrugs nonchalantly. “Never tried it, but I’m a millennial. I’ll figure it out easy.”

Gob squints, apparently thinking it over but more likely just trying to _look_ like he’s thinking it over. He sticks out his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, kid.”

She grabs his hand and shakes it firmly, smiling. “So what are we talking here?”

“I want you to edit footage from the _Entrap a Local Predator_ cameras of me and Tony having sex and post it online as the most bitchingly awesome porno that’s ever been created.”

Okay, so that’s actually beyond what Maeby had expected. Like, _significantly_ beyond. “I kind of wish I’d asked for seventy percent.”

“But you didn’t! You shook on it!” Gob raises his finger at her.

“Yeah, I don’t actually consider a handshake legally binding. But okay, I’m all for it.”

Gob’s face breaks into an enormous grin. See, that’s why he’s not a very good con man. He’s virtually incapable of playing it cool. “Thank you!” He envelopes her in this _tight_ hug. Maeby’s always thought his hugs were a little much. But, well, how often does she really get hugged? Besides George Michael’s awkward bro hugs, the last time was at the wall unveiling. So she hugs Gob back.

When he pulls away, she says, “All right, so where’s that video? I’m ready to get my hands on it.”

Gob looks totally caught off-guard. “Oh. We don’t actually… have it.”

Maeby raises her eyebrows.

“John Beard has it.”

“Why the fuck—oh right, because of _Entrap a Local Predator_. Well, do you have a plan to get it?”

Gob is twisting his hands a little nervously and looking down at them. “Well, we figured we’d either ask for it, or steal it.”

“Yep, those are basically your two options.”

“The thing is, if John Beard is blackmailing us with these tapes, is he really going to just _give_ them to us?”

Suddenly everything clicks in Maeby’s head. “ _Oh,_ this is about the blackmail stuff. Yeah, George Michael told me about that. Get out in front of it. I like the way you think,” she smirks.

Gob sighs and smiles at her. “God, imagine if I had you helping me when I was trying to destroy Tony. He would have been utterly _annihilated._ ”

“You’re damn right he would.”

“Not that I want that now,” Gob says quickly. “I think it worked out pretty well in the end.”

“Yeah, you guys are sickeningly cute. Makes me nauseous every time I’m around you.”

Gob grins and gives her another hug. “Thanks, Maeby.”

Maeby pulls away after a few seconds. “Now, for getting the tape, I think stealing is the better option. Or tricking him into giving it to you, which basically amounts to the same thing.”

Gob nods thoughtfully. “Tony and I stole some pies once.”

Maeby reaches up and puts her hand on Gob’s shoulder. “Those skills are going to come in handy.”

***

It’s one of those rare occasions throughout the day when Michael isn’t working. He’s having a coffee and waiting for the tooth printer to finish. Obviously, he didn’t take four hours off just to wait for it. He’d done all the work that didn’t depend on the printer, and now he’s enjoying a nice half hour off.

At least, he _was_.

He hears his name being called from out in the hallway. It’s Gob. He keeps quiet, hoping he won’t think to look in the printer room. Maybe he’ll give up and leave.

But of course, that’s not what happens. Gob pokes his head in the doorway after only about five minutes. “Hey, why didn’t answer when I called your name?”

Michael feigns a look of innocent surprise. “You were calling me? I’m sorry, Gob, I must have spaced out there for a minute because I totally didn’t hear it.”

Gob looks for a second like he might not believe him, but then he smiles. “Hey, don’t worry about it. At least I found you. I had a question I wanted to ask you.”

Michael steels himself. “Okay, shoot.”

“You were at the news station and saw that video of me giving you a forget-me-now, right?”

Michael frowns. “Yeah. And, you know, we’ve never really properly—”

Gob rolls his eyes. “ _Come on,_ Michael. I didn’t want you to know I’d slept with Tony, because I was ashamed. So I gave you a forget-me-now. That’s all there is to talk about.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed, Gob.”

Gob looks Michael in the eyes. “Well, that’s easy for you to say, _Michael._ You weren’t so understanding at the time.”

Michael feels like it’s a little bit ridiculous to apologize to his brother for something he doesn’t even remember, especially when the _reason_ he doesn’t remember is because _that same brother drugged him._ But he does it anyway, because he’s a good guy. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t in a good place that night. I was just surprised. I think. I mean, I don’t really remember.”

Gob leans against the doorframe, turning away from him. “Whatever, _Michael._ ”

Michael sighs. “What do you want, Gob?”

“I want to get the tape back from John Beard.”

“You know he’s going to have copies, right?”

Gob rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “ _Obviously._ I don’t want it so that he _can’t_ have it. I want it so that I _can_ have it.”

Michael’s on the verge of asking why the hell he would want that, but he thinks better of it. No. He doesn’t want to know. He absolutely doesn’t want to know. “Well, it’s in the basement of the news station. Go ask him yourself, maybe he’ll give it to you.”

Gob sighs loudly, making every second of it as dramatic as possible. “Michael.” He shakes his head. “ _Michael._ You think the guy blackmailing me is just going to _give_ me the tape he’s blackmailing me with?”

“You don’t even know it’s him blackmailing you.”

Gob snaps his head towards him. “Okay, Michael. I’m getting a little tired of all your _logic_ and _common sense._ I just want you to tell me how to find the tape I want.”

“Okay, well, like I said it’s in the basement of the news station. I think all the _To_ _Entrap a Local Predator_ tapes are stored together and labelled with the day they were filmed.

Gob rolls his eyes again. “And you expect me to remember the date of one _specific_ time that Tony and I fucked?”

Michael stares at him, desperately hoping that he’s kidding, but knowing that he’s not. “It was Cinco de Cuatro, Gob.”

“Oh.” Gob’s haughty act falters. “Right. Okay, thanks for the information, Mikey. Very helpful.”

“I’m glad.” Michael watches the printer for a couple seconds and then decides to ask, despite his better judgment, “What do you want it for, anyway?”

Gob waves his hand vaguely. “Oh, you know.”

“No, I actually don’t.”

“Are you trying to tell me that if there was a video of you having sex floating around, you wouldn’t want to see it?”

Michael opens his mouth to say _yes, of course that’s what he’s saying._ But instead he concedes. “Okay. Yeah, I’d probably want to see it.”

Gob smirks. “Anyway, I’m gonna go get that tape.”

“Have fun,” Michael says in the dullest voice he possibly can.

“Thanks, Mikey. I will,” Gob says, grinning.

After Gob leaves, Michael looks at the printer and sighs. He’s probably still got at least ten minutes to go. Maybe a normal printer would be worth the money.

***

Contrary to what _some people_ think, Sally actually has important things to do. She is a congresswoman, after all. But certain ex-fiancés think she has nothing better to do than listen to their bizarre requests.

“You can subpoena the tape from John Beard, right?” Tony is saying, pacing back and forth in her office.

Sally rubs her temples. “Do you even know what a subpoena is?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it’s like when you tell someone they have to give you something. That’s what I want to do with the tape. I want to tell John Beard he has to give it to me.”

Sally is _almost_ to the point of pitching forward and thumping her head against the desk. But she’s not _quite_ to that point, so instead she clenches her jaw and stares towards the place on the wall where she wishes there was a window. She doesn’t have a window.

Finally, she feels ready to engage in conversation again. “ _No,_ Tony, subpoenas are only for court cases. You can’t just get one whenever you want someone to give you something.”

Tony crosses his arms. “Well the legal system in this country is bullshit, and I want you to do something about it.”

Sally glares at him. “Even if I _wanted_ to make such a sweeping change, not that I understand what you’re actually asking me to do, I’m just one person, Tony. I can’t change the whole fucking legal system just because you want me to. Even if I could, it would take time.”

Tony sighs and slumps into the visitor’s chair on the other side of the desk. “I need that video, Sally.”

Sally sighs. She’s sympathetic, really she is, but she can only do so much. “Why don’t you just ask John Beard for it?”

Tony scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like someone blackmailing us would just _give_ us the blackmail material out of the goodness of his heart.”

“You don’t even know it’s John Beard blackmailing you,” Sally points out.

“Technically true.”

“Well,” Sally says pragmatically, “how about you ask him for it, and if he says no, _then_ you try to steal it?”

Tony looks like he’s considering it for a second, but finally grimaces. “Then he’d be expecting us.”

“Look, Tony,” Sally snaps, “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t get the tape from John Beard just because I’m in congress. In fact, being part of congress puts me under a lot of scrutiny. It would be a _huge_ risk for me to take part in whatever undoubtedly illegal scheme you’ve got going.”

“It’s _not_ illegal,” Tony says indignantly. “Besides the stealing, and that’s why I came to you. So we could avoid it.” He frowns. “Wait, is porn illegal?”

“Not unless it’s child porn,” Sally says wearily.

Tony nods. “It’s not. So we’re all good.”

Sally doesn’t want to know. She could probably figure out what Tony’s up to if she gave it even a split second of thought, but she _really_ _doesn’t_ want to know. Therefore, she’s choosing not to think about it. “Tony, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to ask someone else.”

Tony pouts childishly for a moment, slumped in Sally’s guest chair. “Fine,” he says after a while. “I’ll do it myself.”

As Tony leaves, Sally stops herself from apologizing, because she’s _not_ sorry. None of this is her fault. In fact, in this situation she’s not even sure there _is_ a “fault.” Tony’s probably just getting worked up over nothing.

As soon as she’s fairly sure Tony is out of earshot, she calls Lindsay. “Hey, Lindsay. Do you by any chance know what Tony and your brother are up to?”

“You mean besides trying to inform me of every intimate detail of their sex life?” 

“Yeah, besides that.”

“No, that’s really all I’ve noticed lately.”

“All right, well, if you find out, don’t tell me.”

Lindsay laughs. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t hear about it, and if I do, it’ll probably be horrifying. Not something I’d want to push on anyone I actually like.”

Sally notices her mouth curving up in a smile, notices her heart skipping. But she’s not sure… why. “Well, I’m glad to hear that I’m someone you like.” …There’s that stupid heart skipping again. “But if you find out anything, I actually do want to know. No matter how disturbing.”

“Will do.” Sally can hear the smile in Lindsay’s voice. “And you’ll do the same?”

“You can count on it.” She smiles in return. “Bye.”

***

They can’t decide who should confront John Beard about the tape, so naturally they both go.

Gob thinks that they probably should have brought Maeby. But it’s a little too late for that. They’re both standing before John Beard, smiling their most winning smiles, asking him if he knows anything about the tapes collected during the run of _To Entrap a Local Predator._

“Well, of course,” John Beard is saying, “It’s my show after all.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Gob growls. “We want the tapes.”

“Well,” John Beard says a little sheepishly, “I guess what better way to determine if they’re worth five hundred thousand dollars?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” Tony asks, the picture of innocent curiosity.

“Oh, come on,” John Beard says, with his usual genial smile still on his face. “I’m sure you knew I was the blackmailer.”

Tony starts to nod, but Gob sticks his arm out in front of him, looking at John Beard incredulously. “ _What?_ No. No way,” Gob says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s so fucking _obvious._ ” He turns to Tony. “That’s too _obvious,_ right?”

Tony gives Gob a confused look. “I thought we knew it was him. Every time we talked about the blackmailer, we said ‘John Beard.’”

Gob rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but we didn’t _actually_ mean it was John Beard. It was like a metaphor.”

“How is that a metaphor?”

“ _Well_ ,” John Beard interrupts loudly, as if he really just doesn’t want to listen to them argue and would rather get this over with. “It is me. You got me. And if you want to see the videos, you’re more than welcome to. But you _can’t_ take them with you.”

“You’re not a very good blackmailer, are you?” Tony asks.

Gob swats at Tony’s arm. “Shh!” Why the hell is he trying to alienate their only ticket to getting their hands on the video?

But it seems like John Beard isn’t offended, because he just shrugs. “No, I’m not. But I figured I’d try my hand at it.”

“A little advice? I think you asked for _way_ too much money,” Tony says.

John Beard nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We could lower it to a hundred thousand if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Gob says quickly. “But we still don’t have it _now._ ”

“All right, that’s fine, but only because I’m a nice guy. I mean, you’ve had _plenty_ of time. You were supposed to give it to my man two weeks after my email, but it’s been over a month and I haven’t even sent anyone. So I assumed you’d at _least_ have the money by now. I thought that’s why you came here.”

Gob and Tony look at each other with identical expressions of surprise. That’s right, the blackmail deadline _was_ like three weeks ago. They hadn’t noticed it come and go.

“Well,” John Beard says. “You guys still want to see it? I’ll bring it up for you, but then I’m going to step out. I’m not really interested in seeing it again. Or seeing you watch it.”

Once John Beard is out of earshot, Tony leans towards Gob and whispers, “He really _is_ just leaving us alone with the computer.”

“Yeah, Maeby was right,” Gob says, sounding impressed. “She said he’d do that because old guys don’t understand that you can get something off a computer without running wires everywhere.”

See, they _call_ it a sex tape, but it’s not _really_ a tape, apparently. It was recorded with digital cameras. Gob inserts Maeby’s flash drive into the computer. It has some sort of… disease on it that steals files. A bacterial infection? Something like that. Some kind of “ware,” whatever that is. Something Fakeblock would have stopped, so for the first time Gob is glad it was never real.

Watching the video, Gob feels even more confident in his plan. That video is _hot._ With Maeby’s editing, it’ll be spectacular. His hands are itching, wanting to touch Tony, who’s sitting right next to him. But sometimes jumping his boyfriend’s bones isn’t appropriate. He’s been learning that lately.

But Tony reaches over and _squeezes his hand,_ and suddenly Gob has a lump in his throat like some kind of _girl_ , because this type of non-sexual affection is so unfamiliar to him. The last time he’d experienced it had been with Marta, and that was… god, over twelve years ago. And he’d been constantly trying to avoid it with her.

So his first impulse is to yank his hand away from Tony’s and make some sort of sexual innuendo with the intent to get Tony in the mood to give Gob the kind of attention he’s _used_ to. But for once in his life, Gob doesn’t go with his first impulse. He goes with his second, which is to squeeze Tony’s hand back and smile at him.

It’s a surprisingly nice moment. They’re holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes, and it _would_ be incredibly sweet. Except for the fact that there’s a video of them going at it in the background. Well, maybe it’s still sort of sweet. 

When it’s done, John Beard comes back into the room, visibly relieved. “Oh thank god you’re still clothed.”

“Hey, guy,” Gob says while standing up and using sleight of hand to take the flash drive out of the computer. “You know, if you’re sick of living here in the basement of the news station, you could come check out Sudden Valley. The prices are _way_ down there because of all the residents being sex offenders. I mean, as long as you don’t have a kid or anything.”

John Beard looks surprised. “Thanks, that’s… actually a great idea. I might go take a look. Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.” Gob gives his most confident smile. “Always happy to help out my favorite blackmailer.”

John Beard blinks at him and Tony gives him an amused look, but Gob doesn’t care. He’s got a copy of the sexiest video he’s ever seen (although he may be a little biased), and he’s about to be rich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Beard, aka everyone's favorite blackmailer


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliz belated Cinco de Cuatro, everyone :)

“So you and Tobias are separated?”

“Yeah,” Lindsay nods. She’s showing Sally around the model home. It’s a _very_ weird experience, one she never thought she’d be having, especially since willingly spending time with Sally Sitwell is _also_ an experience she never thought she’d be having.

“Well, I know that back in Boston you guys were famous for your fundraisers, but uh… from what everyone says about Tobias, I’m assuming he wasn’t really the main one behind the success of the parties.”

“Not at _all._ No, I basically gave him notecards of the ten different things he was allowed to say in order not to ruin everything.”

“Smart.” Sally somehow manages to look impressed with only the slightest movement of her eyebrows.

“You know, I really never knew that you had alopecia. It’s not at _all_ obvious, no matter what Argyle says. He probably just heard it from someone who overheard your dad talking or something.”

“Thanks,” Sally says, lightly tugging at her hair. Lindsay almost thinks she’s doing it self-consciously, but… Really? Sally Sitwell, self-conscious?

“So, anyway,” Sally says, looking away. “For entertaining you have this whole huge foyer area, the sunken living room, nice open-concept eat-in kitchen, and then a little dining room off to the right there… Yeah, this’ll be perfect.” She smirks, looking pleased with herself.

“Yeah, we’re going to uh… have to get it catered, though. I’m a terrible cook. Buster’s the only one who really likes my cooking, and he obviously isn’t going to be here.”

Sally turns and looks at her as if she’s just remembered something. “What did Michael say about the fundraiser? He doesn’t think it’s too public of an event for your family right now, does he?”

Lindsay rolls her eyes. “Well, he did do that disapproving frown thing he always does, but I convinced him that it’ll be good for this family to actually get some positive press. And infrastructure rebuilding is a pretty noncontroversial cause. I even told him we might get a road paved all the way into Sudden Valley.” She smiles.

Sally laughs. “Nice. Argyle’s going to love it too. Honestly, when he said he wanted me to be his government mole, I kind of thought he was going to have me pushing a lot of gay rights bills. But instead he wants me to go after infrastructure improvements. I guess it makes sense. The Tastemakers _are_ the premier cement supplier in all of Southern California.”

“And it’ll be great to actually host a _party_ again.” Lindsay is starting to feel legitimately excited for this. It’s been forever since she’s had a fundraiser. The last time was back in 2006 with the SOB dinner. That had been a _disaster._ Not to mention the main reason why she’s refusing to cook at this next one.

Sally is looking around the house curiously, inspecting some of the detail work. “Hey, mind if I take a look around the rest of the house? Hopefully this doesn’t offend you, but it would be great to get a look around the product of our main competition. I mean—” She hesitates. “Sitwell’s main competition. Obviously I have a government position, so I can’t be…” She looks at Lindsay guiltily.

Honestly, this is _hilarious_ to Lindsay. Sally thinks it would be wrong to use her government position to further her family’s business? Does she have any idea what the Bluths would have done if _they’d_ had a family member in government? Honestly, Lindsay is surprised that they’d never tried to do that before her. She smirks, but not unkindly. “Don’t worry about it, Sally. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Sally doesn’t look like she totally believes her, but she nods and starts up the staircase. Lindsay follows her to keep talking about the fundraiser. “So I was thinking we make a big banner and put it above the foyer: _Improve Our Infrastructure._ Or maybe that isn’t catchy enough. It’s kind of obvious, right? But on the other hand, it needs to be at least a _little_ obvious. Too obscure and people will forget the point of the party. I’m not sure what to do about food though. Do you know of any infrastructure-themed hours d'oeuvres? Maybe like little bridges of… bacon? Over rivers made of, um, blue cheese?” She rambles on for some time as Sally looks around the second floor.

“Oh—” Sally pauses in looking through the door she’s just opened. “Is this your room?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, feel free to check it out. There you can see the twin beds Tobias and I slept in for years.” She rolls her eyes.

“ _God,_ ” Sally says. “I’m so sorry. And I’m really—” She tilts her head, blinking as if perplexed. “I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear this, but there was a time not even too long ago that I would have been _ecstatic_ to hear that you and your husband were sleeping in twin beds. But now I’m really… You know, it sucks.” She grimaces sympathetically.

Lindsay shrugs. “Well, whatever, I’m looking to have an affair anyway. That’s why the clothes are all over the floor.”

“Oh yeah, I get that,” Sally says smiling. “I’ll be doing the same in no time, I’m sure. Not the affair, obviously, I mean with the clothes. Like god, Tony was great because he had absolutely no interest in romance. Just sex. And it’s so much _effort_ to go out and find a hookup every night, way more convenient to have a go-to fuck buddy. Most guys end up getting so attached.” She grimaces, and then sighs. “I know that makes me sound like an absolute frigid bitch—”

“Not at all!” Lindsay interrupts. “Like with Tobias, I was still trying to get him to have sex with me _long_ after I’d accepted that we’d never have an emotional connection. I just didn’t give a fuck about that anymore. At one point I started taking Teamocil just for the decreased sex drive side effect because like… I couldn’t _take_ it anymore. So I totally get what you mean.”

Sally looks Lindsay up and down in a way that makes Lindsay feel… well, she’s not sure. “You want to go out and hunt for guys this weekend? I can be your wingwoman.”

Lindsay laughs self-consciously. “Well, I can be _your_ wingwoman maybe, but every time I’ve tried to catch a man at a bar I haven’t had any luck. The only successful affairs I’ve met have been at a methadone clinic and a political rally where I was trying to sabotage the man I ended up sleeping with.”

Sally raises her eyebrows higher than Lindsay would have thought possible. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Lindsay shakes her head. “God no, it’s so embarrassing. I should be able to snag someone who’s not a dirty ex-junkie or a crazy right-wing politician.”

“Yeah. You really should. You should at _least_ be able to get a self-absorbed magician who’s willing to sleep with you despite being in love with another man.”

Lindsay tosses her head and laughs. “Wingwoman it is, then. This Friday?”

Yes,” Sally grins. “This Friday is perfect.”

***

Maeby has to admit that editing this video is a _little_ more awkward than she’d anticipated. Obviously she’d anticipated that it would be awkward as fuck, just given the nature of the material. But it’s not just that. Sure, she’d known it would be a video of her uncle having sex with his boyfriend. But she hadn’t realized it was a video of the _first_ time her uncle had had sex with his boyfriend.

Usually secondhand embarrassment doesn’t affect her, but she _knows_ these people. And they’re the main “characters” in a “movie” she’s “producing.” Yeah, the quotes are all necessary.

When Gob gave her the flash drive, he’d told her (and this is a direct quote) that “she shouldn’t have to do much editing since he almost came in his pants watching it, and also could she possibly send him a copy of it before she starts.” Needless to say, that had been an exaggeration.

The good news is that this will work _perfectly_ as a straight bait. It’s literally a real-life straight bait. Obviously Maeby has seen those. She’s not some blushing virgin.

And she’s damn _impressed_ with George Michael’s ex-girlfriend. Plan. Bran? Whatever her name is, it takes some balls to do what she did.

She’s going back and forth on which parts of Bland she’s going to cut (some of them are too fucking _funny,_ but she’s not sure that’s where the money is) when George Michael walks in. She quickly slams her laptop closed.

“Oh hey Maeby, why’d you uh… What are you doing on your laptop?”

“Just looking for jobs.”

“Why did you slam it shut?” He looks a little suspicious, but Maeby isn’t worried. She knows how to deal with this.

It’s one of those rare cases where the way to deal with it is to tell the truth. “I’m editing Uncle Gob’s sex tape.”

“Oh,” George Michael says awkwardly, then freezes, staring at her. “Wait, are you serious?”

Maeby cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want to see it?”

“Definitely not if you’re serious. And even if you’re kidding… still probably not.”

“Suit yourself.” She opens the laptop again, knowing full well what George Michael will see on the screen. It’s nothing graphic, but definitely PG-13. And they still have the masks on. She looks up at him, smirking.

George Michael stares at the laptop for about ten seconds, seemingly unable to look away. Then he turns to Maeby with a haunted expression. “Why are they wearing masks?” he whispers.

“No spoilers, George Michael,” she says seriously.

“I don’t really think it’ll spoil anything,” he mumbles, “since I’m not going to watch it…” He turns away from her slowly, hands on his hips. “On the other hand, just knowing the answer to that question might spoil my appetite for the rest of eternity. So in that way, maybe ‘spoiler’ is appropriate.”

Maeby laughs and stands up, slipping her arms around George Michael’s waist from behind. “You know, if this works out for them, maybe we could do the same thing. Think about it. _Dangerous Cousins Part Two: Once Removed._ ” She plants a kiss on the back of his neck.

George Michael turns around in her arms with that slightly nauseated expression on his face. God, Maeby _loves_ when she’s able to freak him out and turn him on at the same time. Everyone should be at least a little terrified when they’re horny.

“You’re terrifying,” he says. _Success._

“They’re giving me 60% of the profits because I’m a master fucking negotiator, and I’ll give you a little of it if you help me out with any questions I have on this video editing software.” She frowns, thinking for a second. “Well, I _might_.”

“I’m not sure if I want… Every time I spent the money I’d think about the video, and the masks were bad enough, my imagination is just going to go…” He shudders. “It’s going to have a field day with this one.”

Maeby laughs, pushing him away. “What, watching your uncle have sex is somehow worse than sleeping with your cousin?”

George Michael looks vaguely at some spot on the floor. “You know, rather than convincing me that I should help with the video, that’s making me lean towards _not_ sleeping with my cousin.”

Maeby raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna stick. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

As she heads up towards George Michael’s bedroom, she hears him sigh and start to follow her. She smiles to herself. As much as she plays the sociopath, she really does love him. He might be the _only_ person for whom she’s never been able to completely turn her feelings off. If that doesn’t mean something, she’s not sure what does.

***

For some reason, Tony hadn’t thought he’d feel _quite_ as awkward as he does right now. Gob’s niece is proudly showing the job she did editing the footage from _To_ _Entrap a Local Predator,_ and she’s nowhere near as shy about it as John Beard. She doesn’t feel the need to leave the room while he and Gob watch. In fact, he suspects she’s relishing their reactions.

The fact that Gob isn’t more embarrassed is sort of mystifying, but Tony gets the idea that the Bluth family is a little _weird_ in terms of… well, everything. Damn though, that Maeby has balls of fucking steel to do something like this. She’d probably be his favorite niece if he and Gob were to ever… _Stop thinking about that,_ he tells himself _._

When the video is over, Gob turns to him, eyes shining. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

“Wait until after I’ve left,” Maeby says, sounding bored.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to scar you for life, kid,” Gob says, ruffling her hair. “Unless we already have? Well, whatever. That was _amazing,_ Maeby. You should do this professionally.”

“Well, I kind of already did, remember?”

Gob nods vigorously. “I remember! Why’d you stop, anyway?”

“Kitty Sanchez fired me.”

Gob narrows his eyes. “Of _course._ What a bitch _._ She’s not gonna stop until she’s ruined all of our lives, is she?”

“I know, seriously!” Maeby crosses her arms, looking indignant. “She said it was because I didn’t have a high school diploma, but it was obviously because she was threatened by me for being smarter than her, hotter than her, and part of the family that she so badly wants to be in for some insane and unexplainable reason.”

“Yeah,” Gob agrees. “Like _come on,_ you obviously don’t need a diploma to do this, this is natural talent.”

Maeby glows with pride, although Tony has a suspicion that she’d stab him in his sleep if he were to point that out to her. Or maybe just while he was awake. She probably wouldn’t bother to wait until he was asleep.

“Besides, who the fuck would want to willingly be part of our family?” Gob says.

“ _Right?_ That’s one of the great things about being with George Michael. Don’t have to subject someone to us who doesn’t already know what they’re getting into.”

Gob laughs. “Use that explanation with Michael and he might even accept it.”

Tony’s stomach twists a little at that, and he… has a hard time justifying to himself _why._ Yeah, Gob’s told him a lot about the shit that’s gone down with his family over the years. And the way they treat Gob makes Tony’s blood boil. Although he’s learned not to say that to Gob, because as much as Gob trashes his family, he jumps to their defense every time Tony does it.

It makes Tony a little sad, but he’s not sure what do about it. He’s never been good at all the serious emotional stuff.

But somehow, when Maeby and Gob say that they can’t understand why someone would want to be a part of their family, he feels a little… offended? Which he knows is fucking idiotic. He’s dreading the possibility of meeting Gob’s parents, especially if he’s introduced as his boyfriend. In fact, that scenario has played out in his nightmares a number of times. He knows Gob’s family is about as dysfunctional as they come. But he still wants to be… He shakes his head, stopping the thought. He doesn’t know what he wants. He tunes back into the conversation between Gob and Maeby.

“So,” Maeby is saying with a cocky grin on her face, “clearly you like it. Any edits you’d like to request?”

“No, it’s perfect,” Tony and Gob say together. Tony forgets his discomfort as he grins at Gob. Gob kisses him on the cheek.

“God, you guys are sickeningly sweet,” Maeby says, packing up her computer. “I’m gonna get out of here before I get a cavity. Because I don’t have dental insurance.”

“Send us a copy first,” Gob says quickly.

Maeby raises her eyebrows at him. “Don’t you already have a copy of the original?”

“Yeah, but yours is _way_ better.”

Maeby’s mouth turns up into a knowing smirk. “Okay, I’ll send it to you. But remember to always practice safe sex, kids.”

Once she’s out the front door, Tony turns immediately to Gob. “I want to properly meet the rest of your family,” he says.

Gob’s mouth falls open and he silently moves it for a few seconds. Then he laughs bitterly. “You almost got me there, guy.”

Tony frowns. “I’m serious.”

“Wh-why—” Gob stutters. “Why the hell would you—why the _hell—_ ”

“Because I _care_ about you, asshole,” Tony says, knowing that his hurt is coming out as anger but not really knowing how to stop it. Or if he wants to. What’s the point? He _is_ angry.

“I care about you too!” Gob says, spreading his arms imploringly. “That’s why I _never_ want you to meet my family.”

Tony sighs. He loves Gob’s usual cockiness. His unearned confidence. His penchant for just _doing_ things when most people would think twice because they’re obviously terrible ideas. But there’s one topic Gob’s careful about, almost neurotically so: his family.

“Seriously, Tony, why would you want to meet them?”

Tony hesitates. Then he looks Gob in the eyes, figuring that since he and Gob are so same, Gob will understand what he’s talking about. Even if it’s kind of stupid. “I _don’t_ want to meet them,” he says. “They sound fucking terrible. But I want them to know about us because I love you, and I want them to know that _someone_ does, even if they don’t.”

Gob is staring at him, but Tony doesn’t think he’s quite seeing him. He’s got that look in his eye, like Simon and Garfunkel are playing in his head and the real world isn’t quite real.

“Gob?”

“I can’t,” Gob says, still not seeming like he’s really there.

“You can’t what?” Tony reaches up and cups Gob’s face, stroking it with his thumb.

Gob’s eyes finally focus on him. “I can’t let you meet my family.”

“Why not?”

Gob clenches his jaw. Tony can tell he’s getting frustrated, but he can’t say for sure _why._ “You don’t get it,” he says.

“You’re right, I really don’t. But I do _want_ to.”

“ _Why?_ ” Gob asks incredulously. “My whole family hates me. I’ve told you that so many times. And they—” Gob clenches his jaw again. Tony can see that his eyes are getting watery, and his heart drops into his stomach. “I’d never tell anyone else this, so you’d better be fucking flattered. They have good reasons to. I’m a fuckup, Tony. Even when I think I’m doing something right for once. I never am. I never—and if they knew I was—if they knew you _loved_ me—god, do you have any idea what they’d _say?_ ”

Tony feels like this argument has gotten bigger than him. Like this argument has surpassed his own experience of Gob and gone into something he really can’t even begin to understand. But he tries anyway. Because he has to. “Maeby’s met me and she’s fine with us,” he says. “And Sally—Sally says Lindsay doesn’t care. And I don’t think Michael would hate me. Maybe your parents—” He swallows. “If you don’t want your parents to meet me, fine. To be honest, I don’t want to meet them either because I might fucking punch them.”

Gob pulls back in surprise. “You’d _what?_ ”

“I’d beat the shit out of them,” Tony says seriously. “They treat you like shit, and I love you too much to let that slide. _I love you,_ Gob.”

Gob stares at him for almost half a minute, his mouth working but no noise coming out. Then he says, “I don’t… I don’t think you could take my mom.”

Tony’s heart constricts, because he’s hurt, but he’s also exasperated as all hell. “Hey man, I’ve now said that I love you _three times_ and all you’ve done is insult my ability to beat up an old lady, so if you don’t feel the same way, then I’d appreciate—”

Rather than say anything, Gob pulls Tony into one of his death grip hugs. “Shut up, Tony,” he says.

Tony obliges him. He figures it’s the least he can do.

When Gob finally lets go of him, he takes Tony’s face between his hands. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said, then hesitates. “But you still haven’t—”

“I love you,” he says, pressing his lips to Tony’s. “I do love you. I’ve told so many other people, but I guess I just… forgot to actually tell _you._ ” He laughs, a little self-consciously Tony thinks. “Sorry about that.”

Tony’s head is swimming, but he manages to string a sentence together. “Who did you tell?”

“Michael, and the closet guys, and—and Argyle Austero. And maybe other people, I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“You know, sometimes I just… say things. I don’t really think about it. And I don’t remember.”

Tony sighs deeply. Then he smiles. “I know. Same.”

“I love you,” Gob says.

“I love you too,” Tony says, kissing Gob again.

“That’s really gay,” Gob murmurs against Tony’s lips.

Tony laughs. “I sure as hell fucking hope so.”


	10. Chapter 10

Michael has all but forgotten about Gob’s blackmail when Tobias walks into the office. This is such a rare occurrence that Michael actually acknowledges the fact that it happens.

“Hey Tobias,” he says, looking up from his work, “what are you doing here?”

“Just looking for the man of the hour, Michael. To be honest, I’m a _little_ offended he didn’t tell me he was an actor too. But, well, I guess he just wanted to make sure our relationship wasn’t _tainted_ by a sense of competition.” He chuckles.

“Tobias… who are you talking about?”

“Well, your brother Gob, of course!”

“Gob isn’t an actor, he’s a magician. …Sort of.”

“Okay Michael, well in that case please explain to me why he has one of the lead roles in the revival of a certain famous webseries.”

“You got me there, Tobias. I absolutely cannot explain that, because I know nothing about it.”

Conveniently Gob chooses that moment to wander into the conference room. He smiles and starts to say hello, but Tobias runs over and envelopes him in an extremely awkward hug. “Congratulations!”

“On… on what?” Gob croaks from inside Tobias’ grasp.

“On your big screen debut! Well, small screen, but these days web-only productions are almost as big as movies. I have to admit I am a little bit jealous.”

Gob pulls back and stares at Tobias, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Fuck, I should have known you’d watch that shit.” He turns to Michael, but Michael shrugs helplessly, having absolutely no clue what is happening.

“Oh, he’s so modest!” Tobias laughs. “Well, since he won’t tell you himself… Gob here is a star in Straight Bait 10, more than a decade after Straight Bait 9 debuted! I’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of DeBrie, maybe figure out where she’d run off to… But imagine my surprise when I see not my ex-replacement wife, but the man still legally recognized as my brother-in-law!”

Michael and Gob stare at each other without speaking for such a long time that Tobias’ smile starts to falter. Finally Michael says, “What is Straight Bait?”

Gob rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, Michael, don’t play dumb. Everyone knows what a straight bait is.”

“No, I really don’t. Can someone please fill me in?”

“Fine, Michael, just to humor you, but I want to make sure you know that you don’t have to put up this front to prove your heterosexuality, especially not in front of me and _Tobias._ ”

“Gob, please just tell—”

“Straight baits are pornos where two men are tricked into having sex with each other, even though at least one of them is straight. Usually they’re misled by a woman that one of them wants to sleep with.”

“And you’re _in_ one of these?” Michael says, feeling more confused by the second.

“Yeah,” Gob says. “And I hope you paid money for it, Tobias, because that shit’s not meant to be free.”

“Don’t worry, I paid at _least_ as much as it’s worth.”

Gob’s face falls from smug to freaked out in a fraction of a second, and suddenly he’s looking at Michael like he wants Michael to _fix_ something, but Michael doesn’t even know what the hell is going on.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Michael says.

Gob grabs him roughly and pulls him into his office, leaving Tobias standing in the conference room. “I didn’t think anyone I _know_ would watch it!” he stage-whispers.

“Watch _what?_ ” Michael says, pulling away from Gob. 

“My sex tape, _Michael!_ God, slow on the uptake, much?” Gob rolls his eyes.

“You mean the one John Beard was blackmailing you with?” Michael hopes he’s wrong. He really, _really_ does. After all this. After all this, Gob released it on purpose?

“We don’t know it was John Beard,” Gob says.

“You’re right, sorry. But still—”

Gob quickly waves his hand. “No, no, it _was_ John Beard. Sorry, I just said that automatically. We definitely _do_ know it was him. He admitted to it.”

Michael is really at a loss. He opens and closes his mouth for a little while. He rubs at his face. He sighs. He turns around and then looks back at Gob. He raises his eyebrows. He’s not sure what else what he can do.

“We beat him, Michael!” Gob says, looking happy enough that Michael considers grinding down his teeth until there’s nothing left.

“What happened to no scandals, Gob?” Michael says, trying his hardest to resist grinding his teeth because he really doesn’t want to have to go to a dentist.

Gob actually looks worried for a second, and then slips back into nonchalance. “The bigger scandal would have been if John Beard had released the _unedited_ tape.”

Michael hasn’t seen either version (and he definitely doesn’t want to), but he thinks that’s probably true. “Okay, just… try to keep it separate from the company.”

“Come on Michael,” Gob says condescendingly. “What sells better than sex and death? We’ve got the death. Buster made sure of that. Now we just need the _sex._ And believe me, this more than satisfies that requirement. I know I’m biased, but I think even _you_ would enjoy it.” He raises his eyebrows in what Michael assumes is supposed to be a seductive manner.

“No thanks,” Michael says shortly.

Gob rolls his eyes. “You’re such a prude, Michael.”

Okay, now that’s just too rich. Not wanting to watch his brother getting fucked by some guy makes him a _prude?_ He glares at Gob. “Yeah, and this coming from the guy who nearly has an aneurysm anytime someone mentions that his parents have had sex? How the hell do you think _you_ were born?”

“Michael, what is _wrong_ with you?” Gob gasps, horrified. “Don’t you have any sense of _propriety?_ ”

“Gob, you just told me I should watch a _porno_ of you!”

Gob crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “Fine, Michael, I just thought you would support me,” he growls.

For a second Michael feels guilty, but then he realizes—no, what the _hell,_ why should he feel guilty about not supporting his brother releasing his own sex tape while the family is in the middle of a crisis? “I honestly have no idea why you would think that, Gob.”

Gob is rolling his eyes dramatically when a knock comes on the door. “Are you two still in there?” It’s Tobias.

“No, we’re not!” Gob yells. “Now go away!”

Everything is silent for a few seconds, and then Michael hears Tobias sigh and walk away from the door.

“That guy’s the biggest fake gay there is,” Gob mumbles.

Michael shakes his head. He can hardly even comprehend the situation he’s in, and he’s half-sure that he’s fallen into another reality. If you’d told him a year ago that Gob would be a _real_ gay, calling Tobias a _fake_ gay, he would have told you to lay off the maca. But now…

Michael suddenly remembers his mother tricking his father into mistakenly taking estrogen for two years. He resolves to check all his vitamins as soon as he gets home. Who knows what he’s been ingesting if this is his life lately?

***

“Hey, so I thought we should celebrate,” Tony says, grinning, while Gob is flipping through memes on Buzzfeed. He doesn’t really understand what memes are, but they sure are fucking hilarious.

Gob looks up and sees Tony holding a bottle of red wine and two wine glasses. He hesitates. Finally he says, “Tony, I actually have a confession—”

“Yeah, whats that?” Tony asks, uncorking the bottle with a corkscrew he’s apparently been keeping up his sleeve.

“Remember our second date, when you asked me if I liked wine and I said I loved red wine?”

Tony smirks, pouring the wine into the two glasses. “It’s cute that you consider that our second date when you totally stood me up.”

Oh, _come on._ They’d been over this like a million times. “Siri sent me to the wrong ballroom! I’ve told you a million times! I’d never actually _been_ there before!”

“In retrospect, that’s probably when I should have realized you weren’t actually gay,” Tony mutters to himself.

“Hey!” Gob says, waving his hand in front of Tony’s face. “I _am_ actually gay.”

“I know,” Tony says, leaning down to peck him on the lips. “Thank God.”

Gob’s face starts to break into a goofy grin, but he stops himself. “That’s not the point,” he says seriously.

“Then what _is_ the point?” Tony asks, handing Gob one of the glasses.

Gob takes a large sip (more like a gulp) of the wine, then a deep breath, and says, “I lied when I said I love red wine.”

“I know,” Tony says, raising his eyebrows and taking an actual sip-sized sip from his glass.

“You… you know?” Gob looks at Tony, puzzled.

Tony laughs. “Yeah, and I also know you don’t go scuba diving while eating Cap’n Crunch.”

“Well, obviously,” Gob scoffs. “I knew you didn’t do that either.” In actuality, he hadn’t really been sure.

Tony looks down at his glass, half-smiling as he runs his finger around it. “We have so much in common. We don’t have to have _everything_ in common. That would be boring. I _know_ you prefer whiskey. But _I_ like red wine, and you’re willing to drink it, so.” He shrugs.

“I’m pretty much willing to drink anything with alcohol in it.”

“Same,” Tony says. “But I _prefer_ red wine.”

Gob throws back the rest of his glass. “It’s not really strong enough for me.”

“It is for me,” Tony says.

And thirty minutes later that’s proven to be true, because Gob can tell Tony’s already getting buzzed. God, he’s such a lightweight. Gob teases him about it all the time, but he’d never complain, because— “There _are_ a few things I like better than wine, though,” Tony says, running his hands up Gob’s thighs.

Yeah, that’s why he’d never complain.

Gob wraps his arms around Tony’s waist as Tony straddles him on the chair. “Yeah?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbles, kissing Gob’s collarbone. “I literally couldn’t care less that you don’t love red wine.”

Gob whimpers, his face against Tony’s hair. He feels rather than hears Tony laugh. If it were anyone other than Tony hearing him make a noise like that, he’d either be taking a forget-me-now or giving _them_ a forget-me-now. But with Tony, he doesn’t mind. Because he knows how much Tony likes it. Because he knows how much _he_ likes when Tony likes it.

Sometimes Gob thinks about how much of his life he’s wasted _not_ being with Tony. All those women. Sure he’s had fun, but it had never been like _this._ He’d always thought he was into women because he preferred them to doing it himself. And it took until he was _forty-four_ to realize that he’d been lying to himself.

So obviously he needs to make up for lost time.

“Why don’t we make a sequel?” Gob breathes huskily into Tony’s ear, slipping his hands into Tony’s back pockets.

“Oh my _god,_ ” Tony groans, and Gob knows—he can tell by Tony’s pitch and the way he moves his body, he’s never been so in tune with _anyone_ before—that Tony is groaning for two separate reasons. One is that Gob’s just said something completely fucking corny.

“That was so completely fucking corny,” Tony says, pulling back for a second, breathing hard. Then he smirks. “I love it.”

“I love _you,_ ” Gob says.

Tony rolls his eyes. “God, wait until I tell everyone how _sappy_ you are.” But his thumb is on Gob’s cheek and his eyes are soft. And Gob knows he never would. “I love you too,” Tony whispers.

Gob hates chair sex, so he says, “Can we go upstairs?”

“Why? You trying to get out of having chair sex?” Tony teases.

“Yeah, because it’s _uncomfortable._ ”

“Well I don’t feel like moving,” Tony says curtly. “So if you want to go somewhere else, you’re going to have to carry me.”

“Don’t think I fucking won’t, Tony,” Gob says. And after adjusting his grip, he stands up, bringing Tony with him.

“Fuck!” Tony says. “Don’t _drop_ me, asshole!”

Gob scoffs. “I’m not gonna drop you, you’re so tiny, you weigh like _nothing._ ”

“Fuck you,” Tony says, biting Gob’s lip.

Gob will never admit that this makes him almost drop Tony. But he manages to avoid it by pushing Tony up against the wall. “Please do that,” he says in a low voice.

“Put me down and I will.”

Gob laughs. “Yeah right.” He starts up the stairs, Tony still in his arms.

“ _Shit,_ ” Tony says. “Oh my god, what is _wrong_ with you.” He’s clinging to Gob for dear life, and Gob _loves_ it.

When they get to the bedroom, Gob drops Tony onto the bed and props himself up above him, panting.

“Well that was emasculating,” Tony says bitterly, arms still around Gob.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you emasculate me next.” Gob is barely audible with his mouth against Tony’s neck.

“Fuck yes,” Tony says.

***

As they’re doing the final preparations on the day of the fundraiser, Lindsay and Sally decide to decorate the model home for Christmas. Even though neither of them is particularly into Christmas. Too much association with family, according to Lindsay. In fact, she apparently hadn’t even realized it was less than a week away until she’d visited her mother at the penthouse, where Lupe had been wearing a Halloween sweater. And Sally hadn’t realized until Lindsay told her.

Seems like it should have been obvious, given the fact that the election was in the beginning of November. But, well, time moves strangely sometimes, and she’s had other things to worry about.

Anyway, Sally knows that potential donors will criticize her if she doesn’t acknowledge the holiday when it’s so close. On the other hand, _some_ potential donors will criticize her if she _does_ acknowledge it. Whatever. You win some, you lose some.

“This totally makes sense,” Lindsay says as she hangs yet another sprig of mistletoe in yet another doorway. “It’s like… maybe if we had decent infrastructure, Santa wouldn’t have to fly around in a sleigh! He could just take the freeway.”

Sally snorts. “Yeah or like if we had more rest stops, maybe Mary wouldn’t have had to give birth to Jesus in a stable.”

Lindsay turns to her with a confused expression, midway through wrapping silver garland around the banister. “A _stable?_ ”

“Yeah, don’t you know the Christmas story?”

“Well, apparently _not_! Jesus was born in a _stable?_ That sounds so… filthy.” Lindsay makes a disgusted face.

Now, Sally knows—has known her whole life—that the Bluths are disconnected from reality in a way even above and beyond most wealthy people. She’s been experiencing that even more lately, spending time with Lindsay and hearing Tony talk about Gob. But this is like… “Are you guys… Jewish?” It’s a stretch. Tony is Jewish _and_ clueless, and even _he_ knows Jesus was born in a fucking stable. Probably.

Lindsay laughs. “No, we’re not.” She gets a thoughtful expression. “Well, my dad was sort of Jewish for like a year. But I hardly think that counts. No, we just never grew up with any religious stuff.” She shrugs.

“I guess I’m just surprised, since your brother used to have that whole Christian magician act.”

Lindsay rolls her eyes. “Yeah, _act_ is the operative word there. Believe me, you’re not going to find any real piety in this family.”

“Well, I should think not,” Sally says, smirking. “ _Thou shalt not steal,_ right?”

Lindsay chuckles. “What, is that in the Bible too? Makes a lot more sense why mom and dad would want to keep that stuff out of the house.”

They work on the decorations for a while, not really talking. It’s a comfortable silence, although it’s not really silent. They have a holiday music playlist going softly in the background. The caterers should be there soon.

Sally is trying to work around all the damn mistletoe Lindsay’s hung everywhere. It’s seriously gratuitous. “Are you trying to have an affair tonight or something?”

“What?” Lindsay’s voice sounds just a _little_ too nervous. Sally desperately hopes that doesn’t mean she’s right.

“All this mistletoe,” Sally says, gesturing around them. “Are you trying to find someone to kiss, or are you playing matchmaker? Because those are really the only explanations I can think of. I hope it doesn’t make people too uncomfortable…”

“Oh come _on,_ Sally, people don’t _have_ to kiss just because they’re under mistletoe. But it’s cute. And I figured, you know, might as well give them the option.” She smirks and winks. The wink is maybe a little too slow to be considered coy or flirtatious.

Okay, Lindsay has a point. Sally’s not even sure herself why she’s getting so worked up about it. Just looking at the little sprigs with their white berries is making her nervous. Well, she’ll just avoid the doorways for now and berate herself for being neurotic later.

After the caterers arrive, the house is all decorated, and everything looks like it’s going to run smoothly, the women go upstairs to get changed.

“Hey, is anyone from your family coming?” Sally asks.

Lindsay scoffs. “ _Hardly._ I want this to go _well._ Have you ever been to a Bluth party?”

“No…”

“ _Well,_ ” Lindsay says, “Let’s just say that the better-than-usual ones are the ones where everyone gets blackout drunk, mom has a screaming match with someone, Gob sets something on fire, and Michael threatens to leave the family… _but,_ no one ends up in jail or in the hospital.”

“I’ll make sure not to go to one then,” Sally mumbles. God, is Lindsay exaggerating? She has to be exaggerating. Right?

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lindsay smiles wistfully. “They can be really fun.”

When they’ve changed into dresses and done their hair, they pause to look each other up and down. Even though they’ve been friendly lately, it’s hard to erase the rivalry that’s lasted their entire lives. Sally’s always been insanely jealous of Lindsay, while simultaneously _knowing_ that she’s better than Lindsay. And she’s pretty sure Lindsay’s always felt the same way.

What would it be like to not compare herself to Lindsay all the time? When she tries to imagine it, she comes up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. She doesn’t know. That’s fucking _sad._ Seriously, how pathetic is that?

Lindsay half-smiles at her, interrupting her thoughts. “You look really… nice, Sally,” she says. It sounds like it’s hard for her to say, like she has to force the compliment out of her mouth.

Sally’s not offended, because that’s how it is for her too. “So, uh, do you.” She tries to smile but knows it looks about as genuine as Lindsay’s.

Of course, the fact that either one of them manages to make an effort at all is so revolutionary that Sally feels like Lindsay’s just told her she was stunningly gorgeous. Sally blushes. She actually _blushes._

_Kill me,_ she thinks.

“Well, now comes the fun part!” Lindsay says suddenly, starting towards the stairs. Sally doesn’t really think of this as the fun part. She thinks of this as the necessary part. Sally can be energetic and personable when she wants, but it’s not who she is naturally. Lindsay, on the other hand, actually sounds serious, so she decides to let her take the reins for the evening. It’s what she’s good at, after all.

And thankfully, the night ends up being a total success. Sally’s thrilled, but all she wants right now is to go to sleep. She and Lindsay are the last ones in the house, both draped over the couch with their heels kicked off in a corner somewhere.

“That was _amazing!_ ” Lindsay gushes.

“That was _exhausting,_ ” Sally moans.

“Well, yeah,” Lindsay says. “That’s part of what makes it so amazing. I’ve missed throwing these things. They make me feel like I’m actually _doing_ something, you know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. I think I’ll feel it more tomorrow after I sleep, though. I should head home.”

Lindsay sits up, looking concerned. “Are you sure? You could just stay here. We have like a million bedrooms.”

Sally’s stomach lurches. “Nah, I don’t sleep that well when I’m not in my own bed.” That’s only a little bit true.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?”

“Lindsay, I had like _two_ drinks all night. I’m fine.” She’s starting to feel a little irritated.

“All right, if you say so.” For some reason Lindsay looks disappointed—at least Sally _thinks_ she does—but they both stand up and walk towards the front door.

As Sally steps outside, she glances up and sees one of the mistletoe sprigs hanging above her. She laughs nervously.

“Hey,” Lindsay says, laughing and pushing Sally’s shoulder a little. “Like I said, we don’t _have_ to kiss. Santa Claus isn’t going to come down the chimney and stab you in your sleep if you skip out on the tradition.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” Sally says, rolling her eyes to cover up the weird anxiety that she knows is showing on her face.

“Well, good night!” Lindsay says, waving. As Sally walks down the front path, Lindsay shuts the door.

Sally glances back before she gets in her car. Yeah, mistletoe doesn’t mean you _have_ to kiss. Just that you can if you _want_ to. And even if you _do_ want to, you can still choose not to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know one of the scenes in this chapter is 100% Blunder fluff and in no way advances the plot, but I absolutely didn't have the heart to take it out.


	11. Chapter 11

If it weren’t for her Uncle Gob, Maeby’s life would be _so_ boring right now. Everything that usually makes life exciting is pretty much dead.

The media circus around her Uncle Buster being a murderer has died down. Actually, he’s technically _not_ a murderer. He pled guilty to voluntary manslaughter, and apparently the judge thought that was good enough, so he’s actually a… manslaughter-er? Even though he slaughtered a woman, not a man. And “slaughter” might be a little grotesque. Whatever. He should have at least gotten second degree, in Maeby’s opinion. He only got five years, with possible parole after three. God, that’s the same Gangie got just for stealing a fucking boat. How insane is that? Of course, then there are the obstruction of justice charges, so he’ll be in prison a little longer than that. But regardless. Boring.

She’s in a relationship that isn’t even based on lies. …Well. Not lies between her and the person she’s dating. Now she and George Michael are _sharing_ lies and telling them to _other_ people. God, that’s so romantic she could puke. Sometimes she wishes she didn’t love him so much, so that she could go find someone she could con instead.

It’s been months since she’s lied about her identity, participated in a crime, or ruined someone’s life. She’s studying for her GED, for fuck’s sake. And she’s living in _Sudden Valley._ That’s probably the worst out of all of it. Although at least they have internet now.

But there’s one shining beacon through all of it (besides George Michael, she supposes). And that’s her _new_ job as a pornographic movie producer. The video is actually making decent money. Still, she wishes she’d asked for seventy percent. It’s not quite enough to get the fuck out of this hellhole and into somewhere closer to… well, anything.

Gob and Tony should actually be here soon. They’re going to have a “business meeting,” which in their case mostly consists of drinking, telling dirty jokes, and high-fiving each other. It’s certainly better than any business meeting she went to when she was a mainstream producer.

“Hey, kid!” Gob yells as he throws open the front door without ringing the doorbell. “Ready to get your meeting on?”

“Hell yeah, Uncle Gob.” Maeby grins. “Hey, Tony.”

Tony smiles. “Hey, Maebs.” She forgives him for calling her Maebs. Because he’s actually cool.

They twist open some hard lemonades (yeah, they’re twist-offs—destroyed the corner of that counter for nothing) and start talking about the recent proceeds. They quickly come to the conclusion that “we must have made money, because making this video cost us nothing but our dignity,” and then they start on the vodka.

After a while, Maeby knows she’s a little drunk. And she knows Tony’s a little drunk, because she’s cackling as he tries to perform a card trick and fails because his fingers aren’t working right. But Gob looks pretty damn sober.

“Hey, Uncle Gob!” Maeby yells.

“Yeah?” Gob grins.

“I think Tony is _perfect_ for you. He’s fucking awesome.” She turns to Tony. “You’re fucking awesome.”

“Thanks, kid, you’re fucking awesome too.” He gives her an awkward one-armed hug around her shoulders.

“I mean…” she continues. “I’ve watched you guys have sex. Multiple times. _So_ many times while I was editing that shit. But you both come over and have meetings with me. You don’t act all awkward about it. I respect that.”

“Same,” Gob says. “You know, I don’t say this lightly, but the fact that you can look either of us in the eye… You’ve got balls of steel, kid.” He raises his glass. “To Maeby’s balls of steel!”

Maeby and Tony raise their glasses as well. They all take a large sip of their drinks.

After a moment, Maeby asks, “So where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?” Gob asks, looking confused.

“I mean…” Maeby gestures vaguely with her drink. “People on the internet apparently thinks you guys are worth paying money to jerk off to. Including my dad. Which…” She’s quiet for a second. “Well, that _almost_ passes my threshold for looking him in the eye. But it doesn’t, because you know. Balls of steel.” She grins. “But it’s not gonna make money forever. We gotta keep it new and fresh. We have to keep coming up with these hits.”

Tony blinks at her. “Are you… are you trying to convince your own uncle and his boyfriend to become porn stars to make you money?”

Maeby smirks. “I pimped out my own mother, remember?”

“Yeah, I never did get the whole story on that…” Tony mutters.

“Plus,” Gob interrupts, “Michael pimped her out too, so that’s hardly original.”

“And I _definitely_ didn’t get the whole story on _that._ ”

Gob waves him away. “Look, Maeby. The bottom line is, do you think this would actually be successful? I mean, I hate to say it, but… we’re _old._ ”

Maeby shrugs. “Eh, people are more willing to buy porn of middle-aged men than middle-aged women. And either way, some people are into that sort of thing. You ever seen that magazine, _Senior Señoritas?_ ”

“Yeah, they had it in the Mexican drugstore…” Gob mumbles. “Always avoided it because it kind of made me think of… mom…” He’s starting to look a little green.

“All right,” Maeby says quickly. “Don’t think about that then. My point is, if we made money on the first one, why not the next one? That first one was basically _security video_ footage. Imagine having a real, professional _set_. Good lighting. An actual script.”

Tony starts to look worried. “Maeby, we can’t just script our sex, that would be incredibly fucking weird.”

“Yeah, if you think of it like _that._ But think of it like _this_ instead: actors are regular people who like, go to the grocery store, right? But if they go to the grocery store in a movie, it’s scripted. And they don’t think _that’s_ weird.”

“Sorry, but I have to agree with Tony on this,” Gob says. “Going to the grocery store isn’t supposed to be _fun_. Scripting sex takes all the fun out of it.” He grins and grabs playfully at Tony’s ass. _Finally_ he’s starting to get tipsy. Or maybe he’s just horny. Whatever.

“Think of it like role-playing,” Maeby says, crossing her arms.

“We’re not really into that,” Tony admits.

“Are you serious? Who the hell isn’t into role-playing?” Maeby is legitimately shocked. She always figured that was one of those kinks that everyone had. Like, why was it even considered a kink? “Role-playing is like getting off while lying! Why wouldn’t you…” She’s gesturing around wildly, unable to finish the thought.

Gob looks thoughtful. “Yeah, I can see that argument. But we’re just not… wait.” He turns to face her. “What do you and George Michael role-play as?”

“Why the hell would I tell you that?” Maeby scoffs.

“Oh, _come on,_ Maeby, you saw Tony and I literally straight bait each other. I think that means we’re allowed to know. Right?” He turns to Tony expectantly.

“Um, would it be weird if I said I didn’t actually _want_ to know?” Tony asks.

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Gob says dismissively, turning back to Maeby. “So go on. Spill the deets.”

“Oh god, Uncle Gob, don’t say _deets_ , you’re like fifty years old.” Seriously, old people always have the weirdest ideas about what young people say. Like, “booty call,” seriously? Please.

“I’m _forty-four,_ ” Gob huffs.

“Wait a minute,” Tony says, putting his splayed hand in Gob’s face maybe a _little_ closer than he would have if he were sober. “I told you in May, I said, ‘your boyfriend is twenty and I’m nearly twice that.’ I was thirty-nine. Now I’m forty. And _you_ said, ‘you think I care that you’re three years older than me?’ But like… you’re forty-four? That math doesn’t work out _at all._ ” He’s furrowing his brow, like he’s trying to figure out where he went wrong in his calculations.

“Look, Tony,” Maeby says. “…Uncle Tony? Tony? Whatever. Look, you’re drunk. No one can do math when they’re drunk. So I’m telling you that…” She frowns. “I’m drunk, too. Uncle Gob, are you drunk?”

“Nah,” he says, grinning. “It takes a lot more than _this_ to get _me_ drunk.”

“Okay then, you do the math,” she says. “Does it make sense? Tony was… almost twice twenty, you’re forty-four, he’s three years older than you, does that track?”

Gob looks up in concentration for a moment. Finally, he says, “Yeah.”

Maeby nods. “That’s what I thought. See, Tony?”

Tony sighs. “Well, whatever, you didn’t lie to me at least. You’re just fucking terrible at math. I guess that’s… better…” He frowns.

“Okay, guys, this isn’t the point,” Maeby says. “We’ve gotten _really_ off-track.”

“Yeah!” Gob says. “The point is what you and George Michael are sexy role-playing as!”

“ _No,_ the _point_ is are we going to do more movies and make some more cash?”

“Look, Maebs,” Gob says, exasperated. “I don’t want to have scripted sex. Tony doesn’t want to have scripted sex. Can’t we just like, film ourselves doing whatever and let you look through them for anything good?”

“Uh, I think that might be a bit much even for me, Uncle Gob.” Plus, Tony is staring at him with a horror-stricken expression.

“Well, whatever, let me know what you think when you’re sober.”

“Somehow I don’t think I’m going to be _more_ willing to do that when I’m sober…”

“I wouldn’t know,” Gob says. “I’ve never been drunk.”

Tony rolls his eyes and looks at Maeby, shaking his head. She stifles a giggle.

Gob looks back and forth between them. “Okay, you guys are obviously smashed. We should go home.”

“All right,” Maeby says. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Gob says. “When you’re sober you’ll realize what a genius I am.”

***

“And why didn’t you invite your father and I to this?” Lucille is looking at Lindsay with her patented pursed lips, just a few degrees off from naked scorn.

Lindsay is trying to explain. “I wanted it to go _well!_ I didn’t want anyone getting into a screaming match, and I _certainly_ didn’t need the donors hearing you criticize me all night.”

Lucille flicks her eyes up and down Lindsay’s body. “Well, maybe if someone _were_ there to criticize you, you would have gone on a diet the week leading up to the event.”

God, this is so embarrassing. Sally is standing right there listening to everything her mother says. Well, she’s sure Sally has thought for _years_ these same things her mother is saying about her. But they’d been getting along so well recently. It’s actually been nice to have a friend…

Now Sally’s going to remember why she always hated Lindsay in the first place.

“Mom, come on, the fundraiser went really _well!_ ”

Lucille sniffs. “I don’t recall you ever holding any fundraisers to benefit the _Bluth_ company.”

Lindsay glares. “Well, _first_ of all, mother, I _did_ help out with the Save Our Bluths dinner. And besides, this fundraiser _wasn’t_ for the Sitwell company. It was money for the government to use to build infrastructure. Sally doesn’t even get to choose what contractors they hire. It could just as easily help us!”

Lindsay knows she’s gotten through to her mother at least a little, because Lucille is looking at her with the nasty expression she reserves for when she can’t think of anything mean to say.

But then… “I have no idea why you ever cut your hair, Lindsay. All it does is emphasize your _wide_ shoulders and make you look like a lesbian.”

Lindsay’s mouth falls open, and she watches as her mother leaves the model home without another word. Why did she have to come all the way here just to berate her? And when Sally’s here, of all times? It’s like she’d planned it that way.

Once Lucille is gone, Lindsay turns to Sally. God, what Sally must be thinking… “I’m so sorry about that.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Sally says, sounding shocked. “Your _mom_ should be sorry. What the _fuck._ ”

Lindsay tries to laugh it off. “Oh, come on. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. I mean, I’ve certainly heard worse than _that._ It was like her heart wasn’t even in it.”

“Well, maybe _you’ve_ heard worse than that, but _I_ haven’t.”

Lindsay blinks, not quite understanding what Sally is saying. “Wait, really?”

“God no, my dad would never say anything like that. And my mom wouldn’t have either, when she was alive. That was…” Sally shakes her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” Lindsay says quickly. “It would have just made it worse if you’d said anything.”

Sally sighs. She starts to lift her hand up, then drops it. What had she been planning on doing with it?

Lindsay hesitates. “I thought… You know, I actually thought you thought all those things about me too.”

For a second Sally looks guilty. “Not exactly,” she says.

“What do you mean, not _exactly?_ ”

“I mean…” Sally sighs, looks down at her hands. Finally she looks up at Lindsay seriously. “Yeah, I’m tired of pretending to be sweet. I _did_ think all those things about you.”

Lindsay’s heart constricts. She’s not sure _why,_ because this is what she’d expected, right?

“But only because I told myself I should,” Sally continues.

Oh. That’s kind of… relatable.

“Yeah, I mean I’d always think, ‘Lindsay’s such a bitch, she’s always trying to take everything away from me, she thinks she’s so much better than me but she’s just a vapid airhead blah blah blah…’ But yeah no, I didn’t really _believe_ that. I’ve always been insanely jealous of you.”

Lindsay barks out a laugh that she’s _sure_ is in no way attractive. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m _not!_ ” Sally insists. “You were always just… so easy with other people. So outgoing. Everyone gravitated towards you naturally. I had to _try_ at it. And even then, I don’t know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I only won the election because you didn’t show up and your parents purposely tried to make you lose.” She looks down at her fingernails and sighs.

“Uh…” Lindsay can’t help but laugh. “I mean, I guess we’ll never _know,_ but you were the one who actually saw the election through… Not like I _had_ to disappear. I mean honestly… I _wanted_ you to win. I was campaigning for this platform I didn’t believe in, in the place of this man who’d screwed me over.” God, even thinking about that whole thing with Herbert Love makes her want to simultaneously laugh and die. “But I’m sure you realize I’ve always been jealous of _you._ I mean, you’re smart, successful, your family actually gives a shit about you…”

Sally smiles, looks up at her, looks thoughtful for a second, opens her mouth, closes it again. It’s freaking Lindsay out. Finally, Sally says something. “You know, I only… I was only such a bitch about your nose job because I didn’t think you needed one in the first place.”

“…What?”

“I was only such a bitch about…”

“No, no, I heard you,” Lindsay interrupts. “I just mean… what?”

“I know it was stupid,” Sally says, grimacing. “It’s just, you were already _pretty_ , I mean for one thing you had real hair _,_ you even _won_ the ‘best hair’ superlative… And then you went and got a nose job, and it just wasn’t… God, this sounds so immature, but it just wasn’t _fair._ ”

After a moment, Lindsay realizes that she’s staring at Sally open-mouthed. But what else can she do? 

Well, for one thing she could bask in the compliment from someone who she’d never thought would give her one. Alternatively, she could return the compliment. Or just thank Sally politely. Or even ignore it! That would be a power move for sure.

Finally, she opts for her second idea. “I’ve always thought you were gorgeous.” It’s somewhat more intense than what she’d planned on saying, but, well, it’s _true._ Why else would she have hated her all these years? When the only thing you have going for you is your looks, another beautiful woman is a serious threat. Especially when that woman has stuff going for her other than looks.

But after she says that, the way Sally’s looking at her makes her realize that she has yet another option. She’s had so many affairs and attempted affairs. If she wants to do this, then there’s really no reason _not_ to.

_Does_ she want to do this?

She thinks back to every strong feeling she’s had about Sally throughout her entire life. Positive. Negative. In between. (Well, there’s actually not much in between, is there? That’s the thing.) And yes. _Yes._ She _does_ want to do this.

So she leans in and kisses Sally. It’s soft and explosive, like… well, Lindsay can’t think of anything else that’s soft and explosive. So really, it’s like nothing else.

Sally tangles her hand in Lindsay’s hair, but she warns Lindsay not to do the same to her. “My hair will come off if you do.”

“Noted,” Lindsay says, pressing in closer to Sally and wrapping her arms around her waist.

All the times she’s tried to have affairs, and she never even _thought_ to have one with a woman? Well. Maybe she should have. “Hey,” Lindsay says. “I’ve never—”

“I have,” Sally says, running her hands up under Lindsay’s shirt. She’s tugging Lindsay towards the couch.

“I—wait,” Lindsay says, pulling back from Sally a little. “Is it the same as it is with men? Because I can do that, but if it’s not then I’m not sure…” She trails off, faltering a little.

“Listen,” Sally says seriously. “I want you, and I don’t care if you’ve never done it before.”

Lindsay is still hesitant. She doesn’t want to fuck up. Yeah, she _wants_ to do it… She still doesn’t really get _why_ she wants to, but honestly… she’s beyond caring about why. She just… she just _doesn’t want to fuck it up._

“Don’t worry,” Sally says. “You’re not going to fuck it up.”

That’s all that Lindsay needs to hear in order to melt into Sally and let her pull her towards the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Women realizing at older ages that they're not straight is incredibly important to me!!!!!


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, where you goin’?” Gob asks sleepily as Tony gets out of bed.

“I’m going to work, Gobie,” Tony says, kissing him on the forehead.

“You have a job?” Clearly Gob is like… three-quarters asleep.

“Yeah, remember? I still work for Sally. Even though I’m not taking over the company anymore, I still work there. And then I’ve got a magic gig tonight.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t you rather just stay here with me and make love?”

“Sure, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” Tony squeezes Gob’s hand, and he can tell Gob is falling back asleep.

He sighs. He can’t deny that he and Gob _get_ each other, in a way no one has ever understood him before. He can’t deny that he and Gob have sexual chemistry, because… Jesus Christ. He can’t deny that he loves Gob, because he _does._

But he’d never anticipated that Gob would be so _needy._

Like, maybe he should have, if he’d thought about Gob’s family for more than a few seconds. But they make Tony angry, so he tries not to. And Gob knows that Tony doesn’t think his family treats him right. But that doesn’t really _change_ anything. Gob is still needy as _fuck._

Every time Tony has to leave, Gob clings to him. Every time Tony is away from him for more than a couple hours, Gob is texting him in that weird, broken text lingo from the early 2000s. (Okay, that’s kind of cute. But not the point.) But, you know, it just freaks him out a little. He’s never dated anyone like this. The most “serious” relationship he’s ever had was with Sally, and she never had an interest in romance. Commitment, sure, but not romance. She’d never spent the day pining for him. No one had. And Gob is just… a complete one-eighty from that.

And, he feels really guilty for thinking this, but… the most uncomfortable part is when Gob refers to fucking as “making love.” He loves to call it that. Tony… not so much. It’s just so much _pressure._ Tony’s fucked plenty of people. He’s had sex with plenty of people. He’s never _made love_ to anyone but Gob.

When he gets out of the shower, Gob is still asleep. He sits next to him on the bed and brushes back his hair with his hand. “Gobie,” he whispers. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Michael’s got it covered,” Gob mumbles. “Don’t you have to _not_ got to work?”

“No, Gob, I actually have stuff to do.”

Gob sighs. “Have fun,” he says, turning over and going back to sleep.

Well, since Gob’s not going to work… Tony actually has one stop to make on his way to the office.

When Tony gets to the Bluth Company offices, he knocks on the doorframe of the conference room, even though the door is open. He wants to talk to Michael, who’s sitting at the table and frowning.

Michael looks up. “Oh, hi, Tony,” he says distractedly. “Where’s Gob?”

“He said you have it covered,” Tony says, sitting down.

“Yeah, well,” Michael laughs bitterly. “Only because I have to. I’m not sure Gob would be much help anyway.”

Tony feels his anger flare a little at that, but he doesn’t say anything, because from what he knows about the Bluth Company… Michael is probably right. Gob had mostly been in charge of the illegal stuff. And Michael has been doing his best to cut that shit out lately.

“Hey,” Tony finally says. “Do you love Gob?” He looks at Michael curiously.

“Well, you know,” Michael says. “I do kind of like him.”

“Yeah, I kind of love him,” Tony mumbles.

“That’s great, I mean someone has to, right?” Michael is still flipping through papers.

Tony frowns and whips the binder out from Michael’s hands.

“Hey! I’m trying to _work!_ ”

Tony throws the binder behind him, not caring where it lands. “Okay, but I came here to talk about Gob.”

“What about him?” Michael says irritably, getting up to retrieve his binder.

“I think you’re right,” Tony says. “I think he thinks I’m the only one who loves him. At least, he acts like I am.”

Michael stares at Tony for a few seconds, then sighs. “Yeah, well you probably are. He’s lucky to have you. What’s your point?”

“My _point,_ ” Tony huffs, “is what the _fuck._ ”

Michael spreads his arms, looking around incredulously. “What do you want _me_ to do about it?”

“You’re his brother.” Tony can hear that his voice is starting get louder. “Do you even _know_ him? Do you even know anything _about_ him?”

“Yeah,” Michael frowns. “I know him pretty well. I’ve known him all my life. Do _you_ know him?”

Tony hesitates. “I understand him. And I know he loves you.”

Michael looks down, silent for a second. “You sure he doesn’t just kind of like me?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“God,” Michael says, rubbing his face. “Tony, you have no fucking idea what you’ve gotten into by involving yourself with this family. Do you know how my family shows love?”

Tony knows how Gob shows love, but he assumes that’s not what Michael’s talking about, so he doesn’t say anything.

“My mom’s idea of love is berating you until you stop doing whatever she thinks it is that makes you unworthy of it. My dad’s idea of of love is fucking you over so that you can avoid being even _more_ fucked over by whatever illegal scheme he’s involved in. So I don’t even know what that means, Tony. You say Gob loves me. But I don’t know what that means. I’m not sure it sounds like something I want.”

“That’s… really _sad._ ”

Michael sighs. “Yeah, I know, we all need therapy, whatever. _Why_ did you want to talk to me about this?”

Tony fidgets for a second. “Well… Gob’s really needy. And it’s kind of annoying.”

“And there it is,” Michael says under his breath.

“ _Hey!_ ” Tony says. “Can you just fucking _listen_ for a second? I honestly… Look. Gob would _kill_ me for saying this to you, but you’re selfish and you’re not there for your brother when he fucking needs you.”

Michael raises his eyebrows, actually looking surprised. “Gob would kill you for saying that?”

Tony nods. “He loves you. Like I said.”

Michael rubs his eyes. “Against all odds,” he mumbles.

“Agreed,” Tony says loudly.

“Well, all right, Tony, what is it you actually want?”

Tony frowns. “Well, I kind of just wanted to tell you off. I didn’t really have a goal in mind.”

Michael stares at him.

“But now that you mention it… I really just want him to have someone else in his life who cares about him. Because like…” He hadn’t planned on saying most of this. Okay, so he hadn’t really had a plan at all. He’d just wanted to yell at Michael, not get all _touchy-feely._ But what the hell. Maybe it’ll help. “Like, I have Sally at least. But Gob’s really only got me, and that’s a lot of fucking pressure, man. I barely even know how to be somebody’s friend.”

“I do care about him. I just think he doesn’t like how I show it.”

“Yeah, he says you’re a robot because you have no emotions.”

Michael shoots him a glare. “Hey, what about Steve?”

Tony is confused. “Who?”

“Steve Holt?”

“The bug guy?” What the hell does the bug guy have to do with anything?

“Yeah, Gob’s son.”

Tony and Michael stare at each other for longer than is comfortable. Then Tony laughs. “Come on, you expect me to believe that? That guy must have been conceived five years before Gob was even _born._ ”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “No, I’m serious. Steve is Gob’s son. He just looks freakishly old.”

For a split second, Tony forgets Michael is even there. “Why didn’t he _tell_ me?” he whispers. 

“Well, you know, I can’t be sure, but my best guess is that he just forgot.”

“You think Gob _forgot_ to tell me that he has a son?”

“No, I think Gob forgot that he _has_ a son. So don’t take it too personally.”

Tony has no idea what to say to that. He has no idea what to even _think_ about it. “I’m already late for work…” he mumbles.

“Well why don’t you get on your way then,” Michael says blandly, looking back down at his papers.

“Right.” Tony starts towards the door. Then he suddenly turns around. “Just do me a favor and like… don’t constantly insult Gob to his face maybe?”

Michael looks at him, and maybe Tony is just imagining this, but he looks like he’s beginning to understand something. “Yeah. …He really is lucky to have you, Tony.”

Tony’s nodding, but he’s not really listening.

***

If he were to get some new bees from Craigslist, would they be able to thrive in Sudden Valley? Gob thinks about it for a second. No, probably not, he decides. The only things that can thrive in Sudden Valley are sex offenders. Now if he could get his hands on some sex offender _bees…_ Was that a thing? Did bees even _have_ sex? He types into the search bar: _can bees commit sex crimes._

“Probably not,” says a voice right behind him.

Gob spins around in his chair. He hadn’t heard Tony come in. “Hey, Tony,” he says with a huge grin. “I missed you.”

Tony sits down next to him. “I want to talk about Steve Holt.”

Well that’s a little random. Gob’s brow furrows. “What, do we have termites or something?” Then as an afterthought, he adds, “Hey, did you know he’s my son?”

Tony looks taken aback. “Yeah, I actually… just found out today. How come you never told me?”

Gob shrugs. “Never came up.” Honestly, he doesn’t know why Tony’s looking at him so seriously. “Hey,” he says, grinning. “We both have sons! That’s another way we’re same.”

Tony briefly smiles at that, and then goes back to being serious again. “Why don’t you ever see him? You’re always saying how your family hates you, does Steve hate you too?”

“Nah, he’s always wanting to hang out with me and stuff.” Gob grimaces. “It’s like, I need some space, you know?”

“Well _I_ think we should see him.”

Gob’s head snaps to look at Tony. “What? _Why?_ ”

Tony shrugs. “Because the rest of your family kind of sucks.”

Gob opens his mouth to protest—but, yeah there’s really no point in contradicting that. So instead he says, maybe a little petulantly, “You don’t even _know_ Steve, how do you know he doesn’t suck too?”

“You just told me he doesn’t hate you and actually _wants_ to hang out with you. That’s like, miles ahead of everyone else already, right?”

Tony has a point. Gob nods thoughtfully.

And then Tony has _another_ point. “And I know it makes you feel like shit when your dad doesn’t want to hang out with _you._ So like, maybe don’t do the same thing to Steve?”

Gob raises his eyebrows. “I never thought of that. Wow, Tony, you’re like… maybe you should be a therapist or a life coach or something.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, I definitely don’t want to do that.”

“You’re right, that sounds fucking awful. You’d just be dealing with whiny, needy people who hate their families all day, am I right?” He laughs, clapping Tony on the shoulder.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” Tony mumbles.

“Well, whatever, you’ve convinced me. Let’s call Steve.”

Gob doesn’t really understand the look of relief that comes over Tony’s face when he says that, but it makes him happy with his decision all the same.

When they meet up with Steve the next day, Gob is feeling a little nervous. They’re waiting at the bar, and he’s on his fourth whiskey while Tony is still on his first beer.

“Hey, dad!” he hears from behind him.

Gob turns around slowly on his barstool, plastering a smile on his face. “Hey, Steve.”

“Steve Holt!” After his trademark announcement, Steve lowers his arms to put them around Gob, and Gob hugs him back stiffly. Then he gestures towards Tony. “Who’s this, dad?”

“This is Tony, he’s my um—my, um—Tony. He’s my Tony. Uh, he’s a magician too.” Wow, introducing his son to his boyfriend is even weirder than he thought it would be.

“I love magic!” Steve yells excitedly, turning to Tony. “I’ve been wanting to go to a magic show with my dad for _forever_ , but last time he asked me I decided to pass because he just wanted me to pretend to be his boyfriend so he could lock this guy named Tony into a gay… magic trick…” Steve frowns. “Wait, are you the same Tony?”

Tony is looking at Gob like he might burst into laughter any second. “Yeah, I’m the same Tony. Gob, why didn’t you _tell_ me that?” And then he does start laughing. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

Gob rolls his eyes dramatically, but he can feel his face heating up. “Never came up,” he mumbles, taking another mouthful of whiskey.

Steve is looking lost, turning his head back and forth between Gob and Tony. “But you guys… You’re friends now? Dad, why did you want to lock him in a trick?”

Tony leans against the bar, still chuckling. He sticks his hand out towards Steve. “I’m your dad’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

Steve shakes Tony’s hand, still looking confused as Gob gulps down the rest of his whiskey. He turns to Gob with a look of concern. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me, dad? Because you didn’t want me to know you were gay?”

Gob opens his mouth to respond, but Tony interrupts him. “Nah, he’s been avoiding you because he’s scared of the responsibility of fatherhood.” He sips his beer smugly.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Dad, I’m twenty-eight years old. It’s not like I’m _six_. I just want to hang out as, you know, like as buds.”

Gob glares at Tony. “Yeah, _Tony,_ it’s not like Steve is _six,_ unlike _some_ people’s sons who I could mention who _also_ never see their fathers.”

Tony nearly chokes on his beer. “Hey, it’s not like his mother even _wants_ me to see him.”

Tony’s comment is apparently lost on Steve, who turns to him looking excited. “You have a son too? I have an almost-step-half-brother?”

Tony shakes his head. “Sorry, no, Blank definitely doesn’t want him to have anything to do with me.”

Steve’s mouth falls open. “ _Luke_ is your son?”

Tony glances at Gob, confused, but Gob just shrugs. He doesn’t even know who Luke _is_.

“I mean,” Steve says quickly. “I assume you’re talking about Ann, right? Ann Veal?”

Tony nods.

Steve grins. “She’s my girlfriend! I hang out with Luke all the time! Wow, I just learn I have an almost-step-half-brother, and then it turns out I already know him.” Then Steve’s smile falters a little. “And he’s also the same person as my almost-step-son. That’s a little… weird.”

Tony looks a little shocked, but even though this is news to Gob as well, he’s not surprised at all. This kind of shit happens all the time in his family. “Yeah, well I mean you did already date both Maeby _and_ Lindsay, who are your cousin and your aunt. But then it turns out they’re actually your half-first-cousin-once-removed and your half-great-aunt. Or is it great half-aunt?”

“I don’t think half-aunts are a thing,” Tony says.

“Shows what you know,” Gob scoffs. “Also, Buster is both my half-brother _and_ my cousin, which in this case makes no difference genetically because his father is _my_ father’s identical twin.” Gob smiles smugly. George Michael had explained that last part to him.

“And I slept with my brother’s widow, who’s my sister-in-law,” Tony points out.

“Oh yeah,” Gob says. “You _did_ do that, didn’t you. Why did you do that, again?”

“Can we talk about that later?”

Gob nods and turns to Steve. “Anyway, my point is, Bland’s kid being both your almost-step-son and almost-step-half-brother isn’t really that weird.”

“If you say so, dad.” Steve only looks half-convinced. But that’s fine, because he’s only Gob’s half-son anyway. …No, wait. That’s not right. Is that—

“ _Anyway,_ ” Tony says. “I think we should all go to a magic show together sometime. Like a father-son-almost-step-father thing.”

“And maybe bring Luke along,” Gob adds, looking at Tony.

Steve grins. “Almost-stepdad!” he yells, raising his arms in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used one of those family relations charts to write the scene with Steve, haha. Also, I have fully embraced the idea that Steve Holt is dating Ann Veal and that Ann's son is named Luke. Because it's perfect and I loved [This is the Backbone of America](https://archiveofourown.org/works/897931).


	13. Chapter 13

George Michael only goes to the model home because he’s looking for Maeby. She’s not at his house, she’s not answering her phone, she’s not at Gob’s. So this is his next stop, because he knows Lindsay is staying there. On second thought, that might be a better reason why Maeby _wouldn’t_ be there, but whatever. Might as well take a look. Can’t hurt, right?

Lindsay answers the door in her pajamas. When she sees George Michael, her eyes widen. “Hi George Michael, what are you doing here?” She leans out of the doorway and looks back and forth, as if she expects there’s someone else there with him.

“I’m just looking for Maeby.”

“Well, she’s not here.” Lindsay smiles.

“Can I—can I come in?” Now that he realizes that the entire neighborhood is full of sex offenders (how did it take him so long? Everything makes a lot more sense now), he’s a little uncomfortable standing in the doorway and talking.

Lindsay looks like she’s on the verge of saying no, but then she sighs. “Sure. Come on in.”

When George Michael walks into the kitchen, there’s another woman there. Also in her pajamas. “Um, hi, uh—”

“Sally Sitwell,” Sally says, not bothering to get up. She’s doing a crossword puzzle and drinking coffee.

Recognition dawns on him. “Oh, yeah, my dad—didn’t my dad almost marry you?”

Sally looks at him with an amused expression. “I think that overstates it a bit.”

“Right, of course. You’re also… our congresswoman, right?”

“Yep!” Lindsay jumps in. “That’s why she’s here. I’m helping her fundraise. We had a great party right before Christmas.”

George Michael is, despite himself, a little offended. “You had a party and you didn’t invite me or Maeby?”

“It wasn’t for kids,” Lindsay says shortly.

“Aunt Lindsay, I’m twenty-four.”

Lindsay frowns at him. “How is that possible? Maeby is still in high school.”

“Oh.” George Michael hadn’t realized that charade was still going. In fact, he’s fairly certain that it’s _not_ still going. It’s been over a year since Maeby last pretended to be in high school. “She’s actually, uh, not. I’m helping her study for her GED.”

For a few seconds, Lindsay keeps staring at him suspiciously, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s lying to her. Or if there’s something else going on. Something like Maeby lying about being in high school for years. Finally, she smiles. “Well, good for her!”

George Michael stands there awkwardly for a second as Lindsay and Sally both sip their coffee. “So, you haven’t seen Maeby lately?”

“Nope, sorry,” Lindsay says, still smiling.

“Okay, well—” George Michael feels a little out of his element here. Something seems off, but he can’t quite put his finger on _what._ Lindsay is as oblivious as ever. She’s in the extremely familiar model home. They’ve had similar conversations tons of times. Maeby is still apparently avoiding her parents. So why does he feel so—then his eyes land on Sally. “Why, uh, why are you guys in your pajamas?”

Lindsay and Sally both snap their heads up to look at him, but neither says anything. It’s a little unnerving.

Finally, Sally says, “It’s our campaign strategy,” with a completely flat and serious expression.

Yeah, that doesn’t make even the smallest bit of sense, but George Michael isn’t about to contradict her. So he just awkwardly says goodbye and leaves the house. He still needs to find Maeby, and he doesn’t particularly want to get into the middle of whatever is _actually_ going on in the model home. He’s pretty sure it isn’t fundraising.

He tries calling her again, and _finally_ she answers. “Maeby, where are you? Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

“Sorry, I was at the library.”

“You were…” George Michael holds the phone out in front of him and looks at it in confusion, as if it could give him answers. He realizes that’s stupid and puts it back to his ear. “Did you say you were at the library?”

“Yeah, what, you think I can’t read?” Maeby’s voice is challenging, but George Michael can tell that she’s teasing him.

“Ha ha,” he says dryly. “Seriously though, that’s like thirty minutes from Sudden Valley, did you actually go all the way out there to get a book?”

“No, dummy, the internet went out.”

“You could have gone to like… Starbucks. That’s at least slightly closer and they let you use phones.”

“Well, my dad said he was going to stop by, so I needed to go somewhere that he’d never think to look.”

“Ah. That makes more sense.”

“Yeah. So what’s up?”

At this point, he’s actually forgotten what he wanted to talk to her about. “Um… I was just at the model home, and your mom and Sally Sitwell are there hanging out in their pajamas…”

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, exactly. They were acting really weird, too. Do you think they’re like… up to something?”

“Up to something? Like what? Nah, even if they are, nothing will happen because my mom has no follow-through.” She laughs. “And hey, maybe they’re _not_ up to something. Maybe they were just fucking.”

“Maeby!” Why does he keep having to think about his relatives having sex lately? First Uncle Gob and his sex tape, now Aunt Lindsay… Why does this keep coming up? Why does Maeby keep encouraging it?

“Hey, they’re sitting around the model home on a Saturday morning in their pajamas! So either they’re planning an elaborate government conspiracy that will result in the end of the Bluth Company… or they’re fucking. Those are really your only options.”

“I think there are probably other…”

“Listen, George Michael. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing. My mom does all kinds of weird shit that never goes anywhere. You’re just being paranoid.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right…” But he’s still not convinced.

***

It’s Sally’s first time at a Bluth family meeting. That’s a little intimidating, but Lindsay’s assured her that it will be _much_ milder than usual, because her parents won’t be there. Sally had asked why not, but Lindsay just shook her head and sighed. “Better to get the second and third generations on our side before we try to tackle _them_.”

That hadn’t really made Sally feel much better.

So that’s how she finds herself in the model home, sitting next to Lindsay on the couch, surrounded by the family Lindsay’s invited. Michael and Gob (Buster’s still in jail, of course), Maeby, George Michael, Tony, and surprisingly, Tobias. It seems more than a little insane, but apparently having her ex-husband here is less awkward than her parents.

In an alternate universe, one that could have resulted from even the _smallest_ change, she may have been sitting here in this same situation, only next to Michael. And his parents would probably be there. It’s hard to imagine. But as awkward as she’s feeling right now, she knows that that alternate universe wouldn’t have been any better. Michael’s definitely the clingy type.

“So,” Lindsay starts, standing up, “I called you all here for a family meeting.”

“Where are mom and dad?” Michael asks. “And why are we in the model home? We usually have these things at the penthouse. And why is Sally here?”

Lindsay glares at him. “Calm down, Michael, I’m sorry this doesn’t fit your perfect _family meeting paradigm_.”

“I’m just a little concerned,” he says, frowning.

“Well, don’t be,” Lindsay says curtly. “It’s good news. Just, you know, I’m not sure mom and dad would think so, which is why I didn’t invite them.”

“All right, Lindsay, what’s the good news, then?”

Lindsay looks around at everyone seated in the living room, smiling with a cheerfulness Sally knows is meant to cover her anxiety. “You know how when we were high school, dad always talked about Michael marrying Sally and executing a merger between the Bluth and Sitwell companies?”

“Yeah, and you never _did_ stick it to her, _Michael,_ ” Gob says, laughing.

Michael’s face turns red. Sally’s face turns red too, and she shoots Lindsay a look that she hopes Lindsay realizes is meant to say “what the fuck is wrong with you.” God, why did she have to open with that?

“Well,” Lindsay continues, seemingly oblivious to Sally and Michael’s discomfort, “it’s finally happening.”

“Excuse me—” Michael starts.

“ _Except,_ ” Lindsay says, speaking loudly over Michael, “not with Sally and Michael. With Sally and _me._ ” She’s smiling around at everyone, and Sally tries to smile too, but everyone is staring at the two of them with the blankest of expressions. Everyone except Tony, because Sally’s already told him. And Maeby, actually, who seems to be shaking George Michael and mouthing the words _I told you,_ for some reason. Sally makes a mental note to keep an eye on those two in the future.

“Did you know about this?” Gob stage-whispers to Tony. Tony nods his head.

After a seemingly interminable awkward silence, Michael finally clears his throat. “I’m sorry, can you clarify a little? Because it _sounds_ like you’re saying that you and Sally are getting married.”

“Well, it’s a little soon to talk about _marriage_. I mean, technically I’m still married to Tobias.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “But besides that, that _is_ what I’m saying, Michael. Sally and I are together, and I’m going to be overseeing stuff at Sitwell because Sally’s busy with congress.”

“That’s great, mom!” Maeby says, actually looking excited. Sally knows how happy this will make Lindsay, to have her daughter’s support.

“Ah,” Michael says, looking down at his lap. “Well, um—You know, I never expected _you_ to date a girl I’d been interested in in the past. Gob, sure, but not—” He quickly looks up, flicking his eyes between Sally and Lindsay. “Not that I’m still interested, of course. Just, you know, Gob’s slept with so many of my ex-girlfriends and potential girlfriends, but this is the first time…”

“Hey!” Gob interrupts. “That’s all in the past, _Michael._ ” He turns towards Lindsay, grinning genuinely. “Congrats, Lindsay. Maybe _Michael_ is jealous because he never got to stick it to Sally, but _I’m_ happy for you.”

“Thanks Gob,” Lindsay says with a half-smile. Sally smiles at him too, although she’s a little nauseous, so she thinks it may come across as a grimace.

“Okay, look,” Michael protests. “I’m not—”

Gob’s phone starts playing that awful Mark Cherry song. Michael and Lindsay both glare at him as he raises a finger and walks into the kitchen with it.

“Anyway, before I was interrupted… I’m _not_ jealous. I’m just surprised. But really, I’m totally fine with it. I mean, listen. Look. Listen, okay, look. Listen.” Everyone is both looking at and listening to Michael (except Gob, who’s still in the kitchen), but apparently that’s not enough to make Michael stop repeating those two words over and over. “Look. Listen. I have no problem with it. No objections from this guy.” He smiles, but it doesn’t even come close to meeting his eyes.

Lindsay puts her hands on her hips and takes a step towards Michael. “I don’t _care_ whether or not you have objections, Michael. I just wanted you to know.”

Michael spreads his hands, looking exasperated. “Okay, well I’m just saying! I mean, I think I’ve demonstrated that. Like—Tony here is gay,” Michael says, gesturing towards Tony. “And I’m fine with that.”

“Bi,” Tony says, crossing his arms.

“What?” Michael says, whipping around to face Tony. “Why are you leaving, did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Tony laughs. “I’m _bi._ As in bisexual.”

“Oh, okay,” Michael says, looking a little embarrassed. “Anyway, Gob is gay—”

“Bye,” says Gob, walking back into the living room and lowering his phone from his ear.

“What, you’re bi too?” Michael says in surprise.

Gob gives him a strange look. “No, guy, I was just saying to goodbye to Argyle. On the phone.” He pauses. “I’m gay.”

“Okay,” Michael says, looking like he’s about two seconds away from ripping out his own hair. “My point is—”

“Bi,” Maeby supplies, raising her hand.

“What?” Michael looks at her, confused. “Where are _you_ going?”

“No, I’m _bi_ ,” Maeby says, rolling her eyes. “I like all genders. Hate most people, but like all genders.”

While Michael is short-circuiting, Gob is waving his arms wildly. “ _Wait_ a second. Wait. Wait a second. You’re _bi?_ ” he asks, looking at Maeby incredulously.

Maeby nods.

“So you’re telling me,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “that you could have gone after anyone in _the whole world,_ and you _still_ chose George Michael?”

“All right!” Michael yells, standing up. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Gob opens his mouth, glancing guiltily at Maeby and George Michael. George Michael is holding his head in his hands, and Maeby is clenching her jaw, looking _just_ a little bit like she wants to rip Gob’s head off.

Michael spins to face his son. “George Michael. Please explain this to me.”

George Michael mumbles something into his hands that Sally doesn’t catch.

Michael doesn’t catch it either, apparently. “What did you say, buddy?” He sounds slightly hysterical.

George Michael jerks his head up. “Neither of us wants kids, dad.” He looks like he’s on the verge of vomiting.

Michael opens and closes his mouth for a few seconds, then puts his hands in his pockets and looks up at the ceiling. He turns around and looks as if he’s just remembered that Lindsay and Sally are there. He glances in their direction. “Congratulations,” he says distractedly, and walks out the door.

Everyone else in the room stares at each other.

“Uncle Gob, what is _wrong_ with you?” George Michael says, exasperated.

“I’m sorry!” Gob says. “I didn’t—I thought he already—Are we good?” He looks hopeful.

“ _No,_ we’re not good!” George Michael throws up his hands and leaves the same way his father just had.

Maeby crosses her arms and leans back into the couch. “Good,” she says. “All the straights are gone.”

Gob laughs and raises his hand to her. She enthusiastically high-fives him.

When Gob and Maeby are done cackling, Sally looks around at everyone left and laughs dryly. “Thanks for the support, guys.” 

Sally’s trying to be ironic, but it turns out it’s not necessary. Lindsay puts her arm around her and kisses her cheek. Tony walks across the room and gives her a huge hug. Maeby is looking at her mom with an immense amount of respect. And Tobias—

“Does anyone realize I’m still here?” Tobias asks.

Gob snaps his head around, a look of utter shock on his face. “When the hell did _you_ get here?”

“I’ve been here the entire time…”

Lindsay turns towards her ex-husband. Well, ex in practice if not in the eyes of the law. “Tobias, I’m sorry if maybe I shouldn’t have invited you—”

“No, no,” he says, chuckling. “I’m—I’m fine. Just. You know. Excuse me.” He stands up abruptly and leaves the house.

The living room is silent for a moment after Tobias leaves. Then Lindsay turns to Sally and grins. “I think that went really well!” she says.

Gob nods vigorously. “Seriously, Sally, it could not have gone better. Not gonna lie, I’m still shocked. But not _too_ shocked.” He turns towards Tony. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“It was a secret!” Tony says, exasperated.

Sally clears her throat, because this whole situation is already weird enough without her girlfriend’s brother getting into a fight with his boyfriend, who’s also her ex-fiancé. “Thanks, guys,” she says. “I didn’t really, uh… I kind of thought that went horribly, but if you really think it went well, then I believe you. …And I never want to be at a family meeting that _doesn’t_ go well.”

“You’re damn right you don’t,” Maeby says.

“I can tell my parents without you there,” Lindsay offers.

Sally doesn’t want that. She wants to be there. She’s not some shrinking violet who’s going to cower in fear from her girlfriend’s parents just because they’re objectively evil. She’s a congresswoman, she’s a _Sitwell,_ she can handle a couple fucking Bluths. And yet… “Do you really think that’s the best way to do it?”

Lindsay sighs. “Yeah, but if you want to be there, I’m not going to stop you.”

Sally closes her eyes and sighs. “I’ll think about it.”

Maeby stands up abruptly. “As much as I love hanging out with all the family gays, I think I’m out of here for now,” she says. “I should probably go find George Michael.”

Gob nods approvingly. “Yeah, there are a lot of girls you might have more fun with, but that one definitely cares about you.”

Maeby rolls her eyes. “ _Thanks_ , Uncle Gob,” she says sarcastically. “Just so you know, I forgive you for telling Uncle Michael about us, but I can’t promise George Michael ever will.”

“Thanks kid,” Gob says. “But I think you’re forgetting something. We don’t forgive. We forget, but we _never_ forgive.” He looks to Tony for support.

Tony looks Maeby in the eyes and slowly shakes his head. He’s mouthing something at her. Sally thinks he’s saying, _Your family’s crazy._ She can’t help but agree.

Maeby rolls her eyes at Gob, gives Tony a thumbs up, then turns to Lindsay. “You’re way cooler than I ever thought you’d be, mom.”

“Thanks, sweetie!” Lindsay is genuinely grinning, reaching out to hug her daughter. Maeby hugs her back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Maeby waves at her mom and leaves the penthouse.

“You did great,” Lindsay says, giving Sally a kiss.

“I literally did _nothing,_ ” Sally says.

“Exactly. That’s better than anyone else in the family did.”

Sally smiles, acutely aware of Gob and Tony making eyes at each other on the other side of the room. “Well, I’m actually just glad you didn’t invite your parents.”

“Same!” Gob yells.

“Same,” Tony agrees.

“Same,” Lindsay says, laughing. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Sally says, genuinely smiling. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get over Lindsay saying that. It’s almost enough to distract her from the knowledge of the family she’s just agreed to be a part of.

***

Lindsay, Sally, Tony, and Gob are still in the model home after the meeting, staring at each other.

“Who would have guessed,” Gob finally observes.

For a moment Lindsay ponders the strange relationships that connect the four of them together. Who would have guessed is _right._ But then Tony turns and looks at Gob. “Did you say you were talking to Argyle on the phone earlier?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Lindsay, he wants to know if you and Sally want to take him up on his offer to join the Gay Mafia, now that you’re officially gay.”

“We’re both bisexual,” Lindsay says.

“Whatever.”

“Anyway,” she continues. “Why did he call _you?_ Why didn’t he call me or Sally?”

“I think he knew we were in the middle of a family meeting where you guys were announcing your relationship. He didn’t want to interrupt. Nice guy.”

“How the fuck would he know _that?_ ” Sally asks.

Gob shrugs. “I don’t know how mafias work.”

“Okay,” Sally says. “Well, did it really sound like he was calling to ask if we _wanted_ to join _,_ or was it more like he was ‘asking’ whether we’d rather join _or_ get thrown into the bay wearing a pair of cement espadrilles?” 

Lindsay smiles. Sally is so smart. Even though what she’s saying is sort of horrifying.

Gob looks exasperated. “I don’t _know._ I’m not a body language expert or anything.”

“You were on the phone,” Sally points out.

“Right, so even if I _were,_ it wouldn’t _help._ ”

“I’d say assume he’s threatening you,” Tony says. “I mean, he has dirt on you, right? He’s _already_ threatened you. And I’m sure you all remember what he did to _me._ ” He gives each of the other three a significant look.

“Um,” Lindsay says. “No, I don’t remember. What did he do to you?”

At first Tony turns to her with such a look of shock and offense that it’s almost funny. No, it _is_ funny. Sally hadn’t been kidding; Tony might actually be _almost_ as self-centered as Gob is. Wow, no wonder they’re so perfect for each other.

“Oh wait,” Tony says. “You weren’t there. But still, I would have thought _someone_ —” he says, turning to glare at Sally, “would have mentioned it.”

“I have better things to do than talk about your life drama from six months ago, Tony.” Sally gives him a cool look.

“Whatever,” Tony mutters. “ _Anyway,_ the short version is that he ruined my career and forced me to fake my own death.”

“Well at least he didn’t _actually_ kill you.” Lindsay shrugs. Plus she sort of assumes Tony is exaggerating. Because Gob definitely would. “Could have been worse, as far as mafias go. I think we should just go see him,” she says, turning to Sally.

And it turns out that when they get to the trailer in the cement quarry, Argyle’s been expecting them.

“You’re late,” he says.

“Fashionably,” Lindsay says with a simpering smile, but at the same time Sally says, “We didn’t even have an appointment!” They look at each other.

“You did have an appointment,” Argyle insists. “I told Gob to send you over right after the meeting. And I’m _fairly certain_ that I didn’t make any errors in my calculations of what time Michael would storm out.”

“No, you were probably right about that,” Lindsay concedes. “But Gob didn’t tell us that. And anyway, the only thing we did between the meeting and coming here was argue about whether or not you were going to murder us. Oh, and we stopped for coffee.” She holds up her iced almond milk macchiato.

“Well, I guess that’s what I get for trusting Gob Bluth to deliver a message.”

“Yeah, one time he threw an insurance check into the ocean because he was mad at Michael for telling him to mail it.”

Sally turns and stares at Lindsay open-mouthed. “He _didn’t._ ”

“He did!”

“Okay!” Argyle says, clapping his hands. “We all know your brother is a dramatic buffoon and a disappointment to everyone who knows him. No need to rehash that. I invited you here to give you a proposal that you are going to _love—_ ” He pauses. “Well, no, you’re going to absolutely hate it at first. But I’m going to give you some time to think about it, and _then_ you’re going to love it.” He smiles at the two women.

That doesn’t sound good. Lindsay grabs Sally’s hand, starting to feel a little panicked. Sally looks calm as ever beside her, staring Argyle in the eyes. Well, what else is there to do but listen to what Argyle has to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The family meeting scene is probably my favorite scene in this whole fic lol, I wrote it before I wrote a lot of the earlier scenes. Anyway I can't believe there is only _one more chapter_ left!! It is about twice as long as the other chapters though, since I wanted to make sure all the resolution-y scenes stayed together. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the one where everyone is sappy, plotlines are resolved, and it actually seems like things are looking up for the Bluths for once but they're still sketchy as all hell.

“George Michael?” Maeby yells as she opens the door to his house. She hears a mumbling coming from the kitchen, and walks in to find George Michael drinking what looks like his third hard lemonade.

“Hell yeah, George Michael! Now you’re handling your problems like a real Bluth,” Maeby says, grinning and clapping him on the back.

George Michael looks up with that sickened expression he always wears. “It’s not funny, Maeby.”

“What, not even a little?” Maeby sits down. “Because I think it’s pretty fucking hilarious.”

“My dad and I were just starting to get along again…” He takes another drink from the bottle in front of him.

Maeby shrugs, grabbing her own bottle and twisting off the cap. “Hey, it’s not like you punched him again. And you guys recovered from _that._ ”

“Yeah, but it took years, and… those are twist-offs?” He examines the neck of his bottle, momentarily distracted. “Okay, so I didn’t punch him. All I did was sleep with my own cousin. His own cousin. Whatever.”

“Oh yeah, I guess Uncle Michael _is_ my cousin.” She’d never thought of it like that before. She starts to imagine a world in which _Michael_ is the cousin she’d grown close to, instead of George Michael. It seems a lot less fun. Even if they’d been the same age.

She notices that George Michael has stopped talking and is looking at her like he expects her to say something. Shit, he’s been talking and she wasn’t paying attention. “Well, you know, both my parents were there and neither of _them_ cared. Maybe your dad just needs a little time to get used to it.”

George Michael sighs. “Yeah, but your parents don’t care about anything. Do you know your mom still thought you were in high school?”

Maeby laughs, disbelieving. But at the same time, _why_ is she surprised? There’s no reason for her to expect otherwise. “I guess I’m an even better confidence woman than I thought, huh?” she jokes. But it does hurt. A little.

George Michael just stares at her. Not glares, _stares._ He’s never been very good at glaring, but somehow it’s _more_ unnerving to have someone just staring at you, looking like they’re about to vomit.

“Uncle Gob and Tony didn’t care,” she offers.

“Yeah, but Uncle Gob saw us making out when were kids and he didn’t even _blink._ All he cared about was the floor sinking in and crushing Pop-pop. …Which, I guess, to be fair—”

Maeby waves away whatever he’s about to say. “Look, Uncle Michael always has to do the self-righteous act before anything else. But if no one else in the family cares, he’ll come around. He just needs to make sure everyone knows he disapproves. But do you know what he needs even _more?_ ” She raises her eyebrows at George Michael.

“…Breakfast?”

“No, dumbass. _Family._ He’ll come running back as soon as he remembers that growing up with these people has made him too dysfunctional to ever feel comfortable around anyone else. Or when Uncle Gob needs a best man or something.”

George Michael looks up at her. “Uncle Gob and Tony are getting _married?_ ”

Maeby shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably not. But they will eventually.”

“Why do you think that?”

She rolls her eyes, laughing dryly. “You should see them during our business meetings. They’re like, _disgustingly_ into each other.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little… homophobic?”

Maeby raises her eyebrows at him. Seriously? Hadn’t she just come out as bisexual literally that same day?

George Michael sighs and picks at the label on his bottle. “Right, it’s not homosexuality you have a problem with, it’s loving affection.”

“Bingo.”

They drink quietly for a minute before George Michael finally says, “…Business meetings?”

“Oh yeah, you know, about the porn.”

“The… porn?” George Michael’s voice goes higher on the second word, like he probably knows what she’s talking about but doesn’t want to believe it.

“Yeah, you saw that video I was editing before. We’ve been having ‘creative differences’ about the sequels,” she air-quotes.

George Michael stands up suddenly. “The _sequels?_ Maeby, you can’t be serious…”

“What?” she says defensively. “Uncle Gob is the one who wants to just give me a bunch of sex tapes and have me look through them for material. _I’m_ the one who suggested scripting it. You know, like real porn. So I don’t know why you’re looking at _me_ like that.”

George Michael leans (or more like collapses) back against the kitchen island. “Maeby, that’s insane…”

“I know, that’s what I told _him._ Like, I’ll edit some videos, but I’m not sifting through hours of old man sex.” She laughs, shaking her head. Seriously, she can’t believe the argument about that is still going on.

“No, the whole _thing_ is insane. Your idea, their idea, just the fact that any of you were in a position to offer something like that…” He trails off, staring ahead unseeing.

Maeby gives him a look. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so much about this when you’re fucking your own cousin.”

George Michael sinks to the floor. “Well, this explains why they don’t care that we’re dating. Because what we’ve got is _nothing_ compared to _that._ ” He’s silent for a second, then looks up. “Do you think my dad knows about what you guys are doing? Because maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t be so mad at me for… you know, this…”

Maeby sighs and slides down next to him on the floor. “Look, it’ll be fine. I was serious when I said he’ll come around. He always does eventually, as long as you don’t punch him. And even then.”

George Michael rests his head on her shoulder, and Maeby strokes his hair. They sit there for a while, not speaking. It’s nice. Nicer than Maeby would admit.

Finally, George Michael raises his head and looks at her. “If you make more porn of Uncle Gob, I’ll invent Fakeblock for real and erase it from the internet.”

“And you think that’s motivation for me _not_ to do it?”

For a second George Michael looks horrified, but then he smiles and laughs quietly. “You’re crazy—”

Maeby says “but you love it” at the same time George Michael says “but I love it.” They look at each other and grin. Maeby would never say this out loud, but she’s glad she has him. After everything they’ve been through, she can’t imagine ever being with anyone else.

***

Someone walks into the room, and Michael barely glances up from what he’s writing. But he notes the blonde hair, so he says, “Lindsay, you can’t execute a merger just because you’re dating Sally. You need my permission. And Gob’s permission, technically, but who cares about—” He stops short when he looks up.

It’s not Lindsay, it’s Sally. She smiles—enigmatically, Michael thinks—and sits down.

“Hi, Sally, to what do I, uh, owe the pleasure?” He winces. God, now that she’s dating his sister he’s going to be even _more_ awkward around her.

“You’re right, Michael,” she says, skipping the small talk. “We _can’t_ merge our companies without you agreeing to it. And I’m not worried about Gob.”

Michael tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Really? Because I am.”

Sally smiles ironically. “Cute. Anyway, I know you guys are still in trouble financially, and I know you’ve been trying trim off a lot of the _less legitimate_ expenses. But I _also_ know how you paid for Buster’s lawyers.”

Michael blinks at her. How the hell—

“Furthermore, I know that it’s _incredibly_ difficult to actually root out all the corruption in a company, even if you’re the one in charge of it. _Especially_ if that corruption is the sole reason for the company’s success.”

Okay, now _that_ is too far. “Excuse me, Sally, what are you trying to say?” Michael demands.

“I’m saying that if you actually stop every illegal activity that’s going on under the Bluth Company’s umbrella, you won’t even _have_ a company.”

Admittedly, Michael has considered this perspective. It’s kept him up some nights. It’s featured in nightmares that end in him sharing a prison cell with his father and Buster, desperately wishing for anything but an ice cream sandwich. But he’s not going to mention that to Sally. So instead he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This business is perfectly legitimate, and sure, we’ve had some bumps in the past, but we build good homes, and there’s always business in that.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Sally asks, bemused. She has completely _mastered_ the art of conveying mood with only the tiniest movements of her face. How does someone even become an expert in that?

Michael isn’t quite so subtle, so he clenches his jaw and glares at her.

“Come on, Michael. It’s not a coincidence that your company started tanking as soon as your father was forced to stop dealing with Saddam Hussein. Or that your father tried to recover from that by running a money laundering scheme through the banana stand. _Or_ that employees of this company have been brought up on countless charges of embezzlement and fraud since the 80s.”

Michael wants to keep bluffing, but honestly… his heart isn’t in it. There’s no point in denying any of what Sally’s saying. And besides, he doesn’t actually know yet what exactly Sally is proposing. Maybe it’ll be _good_ for the Bluth Company. Or failing that, maybe it’ll be good for _him._ Hell, if he didn’t have the company to deal with, he could actually _use_ his maritime law degree and become a lawyer. He could invest in some air conditioners and move to Phoenix. Well, maybe not, since there’s no ocean there. But he could do _anything._ Why is he getting so worked up about the idea of the company not being in his life anymore? Isn’t this what he’s been wanting for the past thirteen years?

“Just get to the point, Sally,” Michael says, hoping he sounds nonchalant.

“Well,” she says, “the way I see it, the main reason the Bluth Company keeps getting in trouble is because you keep getting _caught._ ”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up at this.

Sally finally sits down, giving Michael a sympathetic look. “The best thing you can do for this company isn’t to _leave behind_ the corruption. It’s to get _better_ at it.”

“I cannot believe I am hearing this from _you,_ Sally, of all—”

Sally lets out a short laugh. “You don’t even _know_ me.”

Michael takes a breath to say something, but then he just lets it out. She’s right. He barely even knew her in high school. He definitely doesn’t know her _now._

“The problem is that everything your parents have tried to do is _messy._ And it relies on dependability within your family, which is shaky as best. I’ll put it this way: you’re a family of unorganized crime. And if you want to stay out of prison, you’re going to need to get a lot more _organized._ ” She looks at him pointedly.

“It sounds like you’re suggesting we get involved with the mob,” he says, laughing dryly.

“The Tastemakers, but yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Michael.”

He looks up at her slowly, his eyebrows rising slowly as well. He tries to laugh. “You’re not serious. You want me to involve my company with the gay mafia?”

“No,” Sally says.

Michael feels a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank god, because for a second there I thought you were saying—”

“I want to involve _both_ our companies with the gay mafia. Think about it. They do most of their business through selling cement. Our businesses both _buy_ a lot of cement. The Tastemakers basically control the industry already from underground. Is there a better way to ensure business? And I have a government position now. I can get us projects, get the Tastemakers some kickbacks, cover up what I need to.”

Michael is slightly in shock. He stands up and starts pacing around what little space there is in the room, running his hands through his hair. “That’s—that’s completely insane. Are you _serious?_ That’s not just fraud, that’s—conspiracy, obstruction of justice, government corruption, a breakdown of the democracy that keeps this country functioning—”

“Hey,” Sally says, smiling sharply. “No risk, no reward, right? And let me tell you, it might be a bigger crime than most of what your mother’s come up with—other than the treason, of course—but it’s _less_ risky than any of those sloppy schemes. With potential for a lot _bigger_ reward.”

This is totally insane. Sally is insane. And what’s even _more_ insane is how much this is turning him on, which is fucking _disturbing,_ because not only is Sally clearly evil, she’s _dating his sister—_

“I’m not going to make you decide right away.”

Michael nods mutely.

“I only ask that you _don’t_ discuss this with your parents. I don’t know whether they’d want to take me up on the offer… On the one hand, it’s right up their alley, but on the other hand they might oppose it just because it’s coming from me.” She crosses her arms, looking seriously at Michael. “The main reason I don’t want them involved is because they’ll fuck it up. They’re motivated by short-sighted greed, and this requires long-term thinking.”

God, Sally is more ruthless than he ever would have guessed. _Ever._ She’s approaching Lucille Bluth levels of ruthlessness. Now Michael feels even _weirder_ about being turned on.

“At some point I’ll have Lindsay ask for your answer,” Sally says, smiling sweetly. “Hope to see you around!” And then she leaves.

Ten minutes later, Michael is still sitting where she left him, staring at the conference table in front of him. He’s not sure how to even begin processing the conversation he’s just had.

***

After a few days of back-and-forth, Gob concedes to Maeby (and Tony) that handing Maeby a pile of sex tapes to go through isn’t the greatest idea. He should have figured it was a bad idea, because Tony usually loves his ideas, and if even _Tony_ didn’t like it…

And then against the better judgments of both of them, they agreed to a different terrible idea. They’d told Maeby that just _one time_ they would try making love to a script. On camera.

And it had been fucking _awesome._

…But only because after five minutes, they’d gone completely off-script. So really it was just normal sex. Hence the awesome.

They’re lying in bed afterwards, and Gob is playing with Tony’s hair, trying to make it all stand up straight at once. “Well that didn’t go exactly according to plan.”

“No, it did not,” Tony laughs.

“Well I think our ideas are better anyway,” Gob says, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist. “Maybe we should write our _own_ sex scripts.”

Tony looks like he’s giving it some thought, but then shakes his head. “We’d probably think of something better when we actually did it anyway. You just can’t _plan_ for this kind of magic.” He smirks at Gob.

Gob grins and brushes some glitter off of Tony’s shoulder. Yeah, they hadn’t _planned_ for the glitter to happen, but that’s part of what makes it so fucking awesome. Any time they can work an illusion into sex is like… well, it’s just so _them_. So is doing stupid spontaneous shit whenever they feel like it. And that’s what makes it sexy.

“Besides,” Tony says a little hesitantly, “don’t you think it’s a little _weird_ that—”

“That my niece is writing and editing pornographic videos of us? Yeah, it just occurred to me that that’s actually… not normal.”

Tony sits up, raising his eyebrows. “It _just_ occurred to you?”

“Well, no, of course I knew it wasn’t _normal,_ ” Gob scoffs. “But I mean, you know, there’s _not normal_ and then there’s, like… the Bluth version of not normal.”

“Yeah, I see your point.”

“And I think this is finally crossing into an area that’s weird even for us. Poor kid is going to be disappointed, but we need to tell her we’re not going to do any sequels.” Gob grimaces.

Tony runs his hands through his hair, messing up all of Gob’s hard work. “You know, when you and Maeby were saying before that you couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be in this family, I was kind of… upset, actually.” He laughs self-consciously. “But now… I get it. I mean, why _would_ I ever want to be associated with this family?”

Gob sits up next to him and knocks his shoulder playfully. “Because you love me.”

Tony looks at Gob, and his face tells Gob everything he wants to hear, but Tony still says it anyway. “Yeah, I do love you. For some reason.”

“Same,” Gob says. “And now that you realize how fucked up we are, that makes you one of us.”

“Great,” Tony says sarcastically, but he’s still smiling.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Gob can’t say for sure what Tony is thinking, but Gob’s just listening to him breathe.

When he notices Tony starting to fall asleep, he suddenly remembers something he wants to tell him. “Hey Tony,” he says.

“Huh?” Tony jerks his head up.

“Did Sally tell you about what Argyle said to her and Lindsay?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Well, this is the plan… They just need Michael to agree to it, because I am all in.” He grins. “There’ll be a merger between the Bluth and Sitwell companies. It’ll all look totally legit, Sitwell gets us basically for free because our company is in the toilet, they take on all our debt, it looks like we’ve mended our evil ways because there’s no way Sitwell’s going to let us keep doing the illegal shit, right?”

Tony nods warily.

“ _Except,_ ” Gob says. He’s getting excited, because this is the cool part. It’s basically illusion-level misdirection. Tony will _love_ it. “It’s really a front for the Tastemakers. It’ll be this three-way mutually beneficial scheme where the Tastemakers are our sole cement supplier, they use their contacts to get us jobs, and Sally covers up anything suspicious through her position in congress. It’s way more airtight than _anything_ my dad has ever tried to do, and the best part? It’s _not even treasonous._ I think.” Gob doesn’t really understand _exactly_ what treason is, but since this doesn’t involve any foreign countries or wars he’s pretty sure it doesn’t qualify.

Tony looks impressed, just as Gob had hoped. “Shit, that’s a good scam. That’s fucking… wow.” He leans back against the headboard. “Damn.”

“Yeah, all we need is Michael’s approval, because Lindsay and Sally are obviously on board, and so am I because I’m not some pathologically moral _lunatic_ like Michael is.” He rolls his eyes. “But Lindsay told me that Sally went over to the offices the other day and completely _wrecked_ him with her argument of why he should approve this.”

Tony laughs. “Yeah, he’s _definitely_ going to cave. Sally’s got this gift for ruthless and devastating persuasion. I’m actually surprised she never went to law school.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be great!” But then Gob remembers something and his smile drops. “The only thing is that we’re not allowed to tell our parents. Sally doesn’t want them involved. And I don’t know, I feel like… this is their sort of shit, right? This is their _game._ Maybe if they knew I was involved in something like this, they’d be proud.” He sighs.

Tony looks at him skeptically. “You want your parents to know about the fraudulent and corrupt conspiracy you’re planning because you think they’ll be _proud?_ ”

“Well, yeah, obviously.” Gob looks at Tony as if he’s insane, because apparently he _is_ insane. “My dad’s never been proud of me for anything that _wasn’t_ illegal. Or fucking girls. And we both know _that’s_ over.”

“Sorry about that,” Tony says, actually sounding apologetic.

That cracks Gob up. “Are you _kidding?_ Don’t be _sorry._ If I had to choose either my dad occasionally being proud of me, or being with you, I’d choose…” Wait. He turns slowly towards Tony, mouth hanging open and naked surprise on his face. “I’d choose _you._ ” He grabs Tony’s hands. “I would, wouldn’t I? I _would._ ”

“Wow, I… wow.” Tony’s staring at Gob with much the same expression Gob is wearing. “I’m… wow.”

“Same,” Gob says.

“Same,” Tony says. “Even though I don’t have the whole… bizarre father situation, still same. For sure.”

“Yeah?” Gob had been a little worried Tony wouldn’t feel the same way. But of course he does. Of _course._

“Of course,” Tony says, smiling as he kisses Gob.

***

Lindsay recently realized something… She’s made a huge mistake.

She’d realized it earlier that day, when Gob had come to the model home and recommended Maeby to work for the new family business/mafia conspiracy. Lindsay had laughed because… really? Her teenage daughter?

Gob had given her a strange look and told Lindsay that Maeby is twenty-four. And that out of everyone in the family, he thinks she’s the one most qualified to pull off such an elaborate scheme. _That_ had come as a shock.

And then Gob proceeded to catalog all the scams Maeby’s run over the years. Lindsay can’t even _remember_ them all. God, she… conned her way into a movie producer job, pretended to be in high school for five years, helped build Fakeblock, lived as an old lady at the Spotted Palm, she’d been a _pimp_ (Gob wouldn’t tell her who for), she’d been a _porn producer?_

Apparently Maeby had been involved in con after con, some more successful than others, but always coming out the other side intact. And Lindsay knows she’s failed as a mother.

Because _Gob_ knows more about her daughter than she does.

That’s why she’s going over to George Michael’s house right now. And she only even knows Maeby lives there because _Gob_ told her. She’d always thought of Gob as the most oblivious family member, but maybe… well, maybe that distinction goes to _her._

…No, it definitely goes to Tobias. If anyone still counts him as a family member. But she accepts that she’s probably a close second.

She rings the doorbell and feels a pang of guilt at how surprised her daughter looks when she opens the door.

“ _Mom?_ How did you even know I lived here?”

“Your Uncle Gob told me.”

“That traitor,” she mutters.

“Sweetie, I want to talk to you about something.”

Maeby sighs wearily. “You’ve changed your mind about me and George Michael.”

“What? No! I don’t care about that. God, I don’t know _what_ Michael’s deal is. With all the shit that happens in this family, you wouldn’t think he’d even blink an eye… Anyway.” She turns to face her daughter. “No, I came to…” She means to say _apologize,_ but for some reason it’s getting stuck in her throat. “Your uncle told me some really interesting things about you.”

Maeby stiffens. “Like what?”

“Well, like how you lied your way into a movie executive job at the age of fifteen, for instance.”

Maeby doesn’t say anything, just stares, still standing in the doorway.

“And how you pretended to be a seventy-five year old woman so you could live at the Spotted Palm?”

Maeby still doesn’t respond.

“And honey, I’m just… I’m so _proud_ of you.” She reaches out and hugs her daughter, feeling her eyes well up with actual tears.

“Um, excuse me,” Maeby says, muffled by the hug. “You’re _what?_ ”

“Can we go inside to talk?”

When they’re sitting in the living room, Maeby repeats her question: “You’re _proud_ of me?”

“Of course, sweetie. You’re intelligent, beautiful, strong, vengeful…”

Maeby starts to smile slightly. “You don’t care about all the lying?”

“Oh, come on,” Lindsay laughs. What a ridiculous question. “You’re a _Bluth,_ Maeby. Lying is your birthright. And you know what?”

“What?” Maeby says suspiciously.

Lindsay leans forward conspiratorially. “I think you might be the best liar out of all of us.”

For a split second Lindsay thinks she sees Maeby’s face light up, but then it falls back under a mask of skepticism. “What do you want, mom?”

“Well,” Lindsay says, leaning back and sighing. “I do want a couple things.”

“And there it is,” Maeby says, crossing her arms.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I want a couple things _for_ you. Not _from_ you.”

Maeby slowly uncrosses her arms. “Like what?”

“Well, why don’t I start with the most difficult. Get that out of the way.” Lindsay takes a deep breath. She can do this. She _has_ to do this, but god it just feels so _unnatural._ “I’m… I want to… I hope you’ll…” Damn, she can’t say it.

Maeby raises her eyebrows.

Finally she spits it all out in a rush. “ _I’m sorry, Maeby._ ”

It seems like Maeby hadn’t been expecting that, because she looks totally floored. “Sorry for what?”

“For not _seeing_ you. For not watching as you grew up into this wonderful woman.” Lindsay fans at her eyes. There are seriously going to be real tears if she doesn’t do something.

“Wow, mom. I… thanks. I guess Sally’s really been a good influence on you, huh?”

“Maybe. But really it was Gob who made me realize how much I’ve missed.”

Maeby laughs. “For real? I don’t think Uncle Gob’s ever been a good influence on _anybody._ ”

Lindsay chuckles too, still feeling a little watery.

“Come here, mom.” Maeby holds out her arms, and Lindsay hugs her enthusiastically. She’s never felt more like a mother than she does right now, and she actually… likes it.

Maeby pulls back and looks at her seriously. “I’m not gonna forgive you for what you did.”

_What?_ Lindsay opens her mouth to say… she doesn’t know what she’s going to say.

“ _But,_ ” Maeby continues, “I am going to _forget_ what you did.” She smiles.

Lindsay laughs in relief. “God, you almost gave me a heart attack. You really are a Bluth.” She reaches up to stroke Maeby’s face. “And that brings me to the second thing I want for you.”

“Yeah?” Maeby is looking at least a _little_ less skeptical than she had before.

Lindsay turns to fully face her daughter, smiling in excitement. Maeby is going to _love_ this. “I want you to be involved in the latest and greatest Bluth family scheme.”

Maeby just stares at her. Well _this_ is not the reaction she’d been expecting. “Mom, those tend to… never go well.”

Lindsay’s disappointed, but she can’t argue with Maeby on that. “I know, but this one’s different. It’s not Gangie or Pop-pop’s scheme. They’re not even involved. We’re going in a whole new direction.”

Maeby looks intrigued, nodding for her mom to continue.

“It was Argyle Austero’s idea. He’s—”

“The gay mob boss. I know.”

Lindsay gives her daughter a confused look. She’s not sure how Maeby knows that. But whatever, it isn’t important. 

She explains the scheme in detail, and the whole time, Maeby is nodding thoughtfully. When Lindsay finishes, Maeby leans back into the couch, looking at the ceiling. “So between the Bluth-Sitwell company and the Tastemakers, we’ll have a near-monopoly over both the construction materials _and_ product. We’ll be overseen by experienced criminals who know how not to get caught. And we’ll have a government agent on our side.” She laughs in disbelief. “Wow, mom, that’s…”

Lindsay leans forward, worried that Maeby still won’t like the idea.

Maeby turns to look at her. “That’s fucking _amazing._ ”

Lindsay grins, hugging her daughter again and nearly bouncing with excitement. “I’m so glad you think so. Honestly, after what Gob told me, I knew we had to involve you. We need someone with your creativity and, well, for lack of a better word… balls.”

“You’re damn right you do,” Maeby says smugly.

***

Rather than wait for his father to eventually come down to the third floor and talk to him, George Michael decides to take the initiative and go up to the fourth. He feels that knot in his stomach, and it only gets worse as the elevator gets higher. But he knows he needs to do this, because he’s just spent too much damn time over the last few years not talking to his father. And at this point, he’s willing to admit again that he needs him.

But he also needs Maeby.

This particular situation doesn’t seem likely to turn into something that would be featured on Dadfights or Near Misters. But still. George Michael repeats the mantra to himself: _I will not punch my dad, I will not punch my dad, I will not punch my…_

When the elevator door opens, George Michael takes a startled step back, because his dad is standing right on the other side of the open doors.

Michael looks just as surprised to see him. “George Michael. I was just going down to see you.”

George Michael laughs nervously. “Well, that’s a coincidence, because I was just coming up to see you…” He steps awkwardly out of the elevator.

After staring at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, Michael says, “Let’s go talk in the conference room.” And then, they continue to stare at each other wordlessly in the conference room.

When George Michael finally works up the nerve to say something, Michael starts speaking at the exact same time. This actually happens three _more_ times, until Michael gestures for George Michael to go first.

“Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That’s really the crux of it. The lack of honesty even after they’d agreed to be open with each other again.

Michael crosses his arms and sighs. George Michael is _sure_ his father is going to tell him that he’s disappointed, that he can never approve of his relationship with Maeby, that it’s wrong, that they should never see each other again, that he needs to—

“It’s okay, George Michael.”

“It’s—what?”

“It’s okay. I get why you didn’t tell me. And I still don’t… I have to be honest, I don’t think it’s the greatest idea to be in a relationship with your first cousin.”

“Once removed,” George Michael mumbles.

“Even once removed. But the thing is…” He uncrosses his arms and rubs his face. “It’s not worth losing you over, pal. You’re an adult now, and Maeby is a great person, and if she makes you happy…”

“She does,” George Michael says quickly, before his dad changes his mind.

Michael smiles. A little sadly, George Michael thinks, but it’s like Maeby said: he does always look kind of betrayed.

“Thanks, dad,” George Michael says, raising his arms for a hug. He makes sure it do it _very slowly and carefully,_ just to make absolutely sure that Michael doesn’t mistake it for an incoming attack. It works. Michael hugs him back, and he doesn’t even seem suspicious about it.

Michael smiles when he pulls away. “Plus, apparently I was the _only_ person in the family who even cared.”

“Well that’s not too surprising,” George Michael says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I mean, our family’s not exactly the most… kosher with that sort of thing.”

Michael looks legitimately puzzled, which George Michael actually finds kind of funny now that he knows his dad isn’t going to disown him. “What do you mean?”

George Michael laughs awkwardly. “Well, you know… Maeby dated Steve Holt in high school, Gangie’s affair with Uncle Oscar… Uncle Gob stole my girlfriend and now she’s dating Uncle Gob’s son after having slept with both Uncle Gob _and_ his boyfriend. Basically every interaction between Gangie and Uncle Buster…”

Michael raises his eyebrows at that, looking like he’s starting to understand.

“And now Lindsay’s dating Sally, who was almost her adopted sister, and Maeby used to date Sally’s dad…”

Suddenly all sense of understanding is gone from Michael’s face. “Hold up, George Michael. She _what?_ ”

“Oh, I, uh… I thought you knew about that.” Shit, Maeby is _not_ going to be happy with him.

Michael holds up his hand. “I didn’t, but please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. This whole open honesty thing has its limits.”

“It’s not actually as weird as you…” Well, actually. No, it _is_ as weird as he probably thinks it is. Just not in the same way. “Never mind.”

“Thank you, George Michael.” Michael smiles at him. “And I can’t _believe_ I’m saying this—this might be the first time I’ve _ever_ said this—but you should forgive your Uncle Gob for telling me about you and Maeby.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I ever _can_ forgive him…” George Michael smiles slyly. “But I might just forget.”

Michael laughs, caught off guard. “George Michael, I never thought…” But he rests his hand on his son’s shoulder, smiling. “That’s the spirit.”

***

In the end, Michael agrees to approve the merger. Obviously. Sally knew he would. She’s _very_ persuasive. She’d offered him a position in the new company, but he’d said no thanks. He’d rather get a job as a maritime lawyer. Well, it’s never too late to pursue your dreams, Sally supposes.

Now that the papers are all signed and everything’s official, Sally is optimistic for the future. There’s just so much _potential._

One night after dinner, she turns to Lindsay and says, “Hey babe, you know what we are?”

Lindsay smiles. She always loves when Sally calls her babe. “No, what?”

“We’re a bisexual mafiosa power couple,” Sally says smugly.

“God, that’s hot.” She slides one arm around Sally’s neck while the other toys with the buttons on Sally’s pantsuit, smiling seductively.

Sally’s breath hitches as she squeezes Lindsay’s waist and kisses her on the cheek. Is she ever going to get tired of this?

Sally’s known for a long time that she liked both women and men. Almost as long as she’s known she hated Lindsay Bluth.

But, well. It’s a fine line between jealousy and attraction.

And when they both manage to make it up the spiral staircase, into the bedroom, without breaking their kiss _or_ taking off their heels, it’s _definitely_ attraction she’s feeling. With just a little bit of self-satisfaction. How many other couples can do _that?_

It used to be that every time they did this, Sally worried that Lindsay would suddenly realize that she’s not actually into women. But as Lindsay smirks flirtatiously and undoes the buttons on Sally’s shirt slowly one by one, Sally knows that’s not a concern anymore.

She kisses the back of Lindsay’s neck as she unzips her dress, and then she softly turns Lindsay around to face her. She cups Lindsay’s face, pecks her on the lips, and thinks about all the time they’ve spent at odds with each other. She strokes down Lindsay’s neck with the back of one hand, and wonders how she ever thought her attraction to Lindsay was hatred. She pulls Lindsay’s dress down off her shoulders, feels Lindsay’s kiss against her own neck, and decides that at this point it doesn’t matter.

Lindsay grips Sally’s hips and pushes her gently backwards towards the bed. Once they’ve reached it, Sally props herself up and gazes down at Lindsay. “You’re beautiful,” she says.

Lindsay smiles up at her, a little shyly.

Sally kisses her. “You’re also intelligent, charismatic, and resilient.”

Lindsay pulls Sally down to her in a passionate kiss. Sally laughs against her mouth. Of course Lindsay likes hearing about how beautiful she is. Who doesn’t? But what Lindsay _really_ likes, Sally’s learned, is to be appreciated for everything else she is.

As Sally kisses down Lindsay’s neck, Lindsay has her fingers (carefully) in Sally’s hair. “We’re going to take over all of Southern California,” she breathes.

Sally pauses at Lindsay’s stomach and smiles. “No, babe. We’re going to take over the entire goddamn _world._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted all of it! Yay!! Thanks so, so much to everyone who's posted such nice comments on this, they really mean a lot to me. I don't normally respond to them because I don't like how my own responses increase the comment count on the fic (lol that might be a little obsessive, but idc). But I do read them all and they've made me so happy.
> 
> I've intentionally left myself room to continue this story (absolutely not a promise lol). I actually do have some like... vignettes that didn't make it into the fic that I'm going to post. Some of them work as one-shots even outside the context of this fic but I'll still post them together. And past that, I do have a vague idea of how the story could continue but nothing substantial. If I _do_ write another part to this, I'm going to finish the whole thing before I post any of it because I'm just like that.
> 
> Anyway all this rambling is pretty much just to say thank you thank you **thank you** to everyone who's commented, and to say that there _will_ be some extra little scenes, and maybe more than that. We'll see. :)


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